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pagesfromthevoid · 2 days ago

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So High School | r. r.

Robert "Bob" Reybnolds x Thunderbolts!reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Mentions of sex. Walker being an asshole. Heavy making out and hickeys. General discussion of Bob's mental health

Author's Note: The horny thoughts got turned into feelings because of therapy but alas

Bob Masterlist | Talk to Me! | AO3

It started as a joke.

Sort of.

None of it was technically a lie after the initial lie.

It was more of a “get off my back” kind of situation but then it became a “let’s fuck with Walker” kind of deal because he wouldn’t drop it. And his reaction was…hilarious, honestly. Especially because Yelena and Ava immediately played along, no questions asked.

“How did you not notice?” Yelena asked, giving Walker a look that suggested he was an idiot. “The moment she saw him in the vault, she had heart eyes for him.”

“It was not the moment I saw him,” she argued back, pointing at the blonde. “It was like…ten minutes later, when he called Walker an asshole and laughed. Then it was definitely a ‘oh, okay. Hear me out,’ kind of moment.”

“Okay, fair,” Ava conceded, nodding. “Though, I think it stopped being a ‘hear me out’ bit pretty soon after.”

“Oh, immediately after,” she agreed, crossing her arms over her chest. “You know when it was?”

“I swear to God,” Yelena groaned, knowing absolutely what she was about to say. “It was when he was shot, wasn’t it?”

“Oh my god,” she practically moaned, covering her face with her hands. “Listen. I felt so bad. You don’t get it. This poor boy has been shot and he’s not dying and I’m sure he was scared as hell. But did you see him? Those abs? That look he gave those agents? Fuck me, dude. It’s not a ‘hear me out.’ It’s a ‘hold me back.’”

Walker, at that point, was flabbergasted. Yelena and Ava being privy to the whole thing was enough for him to believe it, but he was so confused. Her? And Bob? Of all people? Of all of them on the team?

Bob??

“Then why aren’t you with him now?” He asked, like he thought he could catch her in a lie.

“He’s asleep?” She pointed out, giving him a ‘duh’ kind of look. “He doesn’t sleep a lot. You think I’m going to go wake him up just because I’m horny?”

She paused. Considered what would happen if John were to go ask Bob himself about their “relationship.” Then she decided that she should probably loop Bob in on it –or at least make sure he was okay with fucking with Walker.

“Actually, you know what. That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

And that’s how she ends up in Bob’s room, sitting criss-crossed on the end of his bed, and him sitting mirror opposite of her, confused.

“So you…told Walker that we’re dating…as a joke?” He asks, and she can’t tell if he’s upset by the whole thing.

“Yes. And I would super appreciate it if you played along because for some reason, he’s really confused by it and I really, truly find it funny. But it’s also totally okay if you don’t want to go along with it, and we can shut it down right now. I really –it’s not something you need to go along with at all.”

“I don’t…I don’t really understand, but I like the idea of messing with Walker so I guess I’m in,” he decides, grinning that boyish grin of his. The room relaxes significantly as she lets out a relieved breath. “So uh, what…what do we need to do to make it believable?”

She did not think this far ahead, honestly. She’s kind of surprised he agreed to play along, honestly. “I mean…I don’t know. He is under the impression I came in here to wake you up for, uh,” she pauses, feeling herself flush as she considers how to phrase it. “I told him I was going to wake you up because I was horny, so there’s that.”

Bob sits there for a second, and she briefly wonders if he’s okay. He kind of looks like he’s short circuiting; eyes blank for a moment as he stares at her. Then he drops one of his legs to the floor, sitting half on the bed. “I could give you a hickey.”

She sputters, completely thrown off by the suggestion. She opens her mouth once, then shuts it. Then opens it again and manages to say, “You –what?”

“I mean, I’ve never given one before. But that would be believable, right?”

She’s sort of stuck on the fact that he’s never given a hickey before and now she really wants to get one and give one. How high school –hickeys. Her mom always said they were gross but the idea of Bob putting his mouth anywhere on her is…enticing as hell.

So she nods. That’s all she does, because she truly has no idea what she’s gotten herself into.

Bob’s going to give her a hickey, and she’s kind of…very excited about that.

“Okay, yeah. That’s…that’s definitely a good start,” she finally says, confirming the first step in a very stupid plan.

But he doesn’t move, and she doesn’t either. Because suddenly this is not actually a joke to either of them it feels like. On the contrary, Bob looks like he’s about to have a panic attack.

“Actually, I just…Why was I…I just –I’m curious –,” he starts, stuttering his way through what he’s trying to say. He’s leaning forward some, and she can see the workings of his mind in his eyes. The tug of his brows as he’s thinking about something that’s going to cause him heartache of some kind. And she knows what it is. She just…she knows.

“I swear, I did it because he wouldn’t leave me alone about who I would date on the team. He really wanted me to say him, and I really would rather give myself a lobotomy than even consider dating him.”

“But that…I mean, that doesn’t explain…,” he points to himself, sort of tugging at his sweater. “Why was I the first person that came to mind?” He asks, shifting uncomfortably. She worries now that she’s hurt him with this whole thing.

“Well I –,” she pauses, and considers what she’s about to say.

She could tell him the truth –after all, everything that followed the “Dude, I’m dating Bob. Where have you been?” comment was…well, it was true. She had absolutely thought he was cute in the vault. And she absolutely gawked when he was shot –not only because he was shot and alive and also flying but because of the abs and how he looked in that moment –confused, but confident. Alarmed, but ready to fight. But that is wholly embarrassing for her. The longer she sits there and considers it, however, the more he probably thinks she’s an asshole.

So she confesses, and her face is burning because she really didn’t think she would be confessing any sort of crush on Bob tonight. “Because…It made sense,” she tries to explain. But that sounds stupid so she backtracks some. “Listen…It makes sense because I would totally date you. In a heartbeat. If you were…in a place to do that. But I don’t expect you to feel the same or even want to do that.”

He looks even more confused now. But his cheeks are blooming with blush, and it’s spreading down his neck and just below his collar. And she’s now distracted, thinking that if she could see his chest, the blush would be spreading there too. And now she’s thinking about him shirtless, which is absolutely not the thing to do.

“Oh,” he says. Though that’s all he says as he shifts in the bed, moving to plant his feet on the floor. His hands are gripping the side of the mattress tight enough that his knuckles are turning white.

“I’m sorry, Bob,” she says, looking down at her hands. Trying to will her own blush away because now she’s humiliated and she’s an asshole. “I really wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable –I’ll go tell Walker I was lying. Seriously, it’s not –,”

“Why don’t we actually date then?” He interrupts, looking up at her.

“I don’t want you to feel obligated just because I told you I would,” she quickly counters, snapping her attention to him. “Just because I like you doesn’t mean I’ll stop being your friend if you don’t want to date me. God forbid, that would be horrible of me.”

“I don’t feel obligated,” he argues, taking a beat to calm himself down. His hands relax and the color returns to his knuckles. “I know I’m not…the best,” he says, and she’s about to argue but he continues before she can. “But I…I do really like you. And I’d…I’d like to try to take you out on a date. Probably have to take things slow or something, but if that’s okay with you…”

“‘Or something’ being giving me a hickey to freak out Walker?” She jokes, trying to ease the tension in the room.

He laughs. Actually laughs; not one of his uncomfortable ones. But a real laugh that’s soft and sweet and she can’t help but laugh as well when he nods. “Yeah, yeah…we can fast forward a little to that part, if you want.”

“Do you want to do that?”

He hesitates, and she’s about to tell him it's totally okay if he doesn’t want to. But he nods finally. “Yeah. Yeah, I do, actually. But uh,” he stops, and there’s this look on his face that suggests that he’s really considering his next question. At this point, he could ask her just about anything and she’d probably say yes, though. “Can we…maybe not fast forward through the making out part before the hickey?”

“Oh my god, you’re going to be the death of me,” she laughs, moving across the bed on her hands and knees towards him.

“I hope not,” he says, and he sounds genuinely concerned as she sits beside him.

She reaches up and brushes a lock of hair out of his face. “Metaphorically speaking,” she reassures.

She doesn’t know what to do next, honestly. Not because she doesn’t have any experience, but because she feels nervous for the first time in years over a guy. Which is ridiculous, but at the same time…it’s a good feeling to have.

“Can I…can I kiss you, now?” He asks, but his voice is soft. Trembling. Like he’s afraid she’s going to suddenly change her mind and leave him there, embarrassed.

“I’d really like that, yeah.”

He’s still timid –a little awkward, a little shaky –but he leans in closer, and she meets him in the middle. Their noses brush just slightly before the space between them is closed. It’s slow at first; testing the waters to make sure they both know what they’re doing. Truly, as high school as they could get without actually being in high school. But she presses forward slightly, resting one hand on his knee and the other hand on his chest. He mimics the motion, sort of, and one of his hands cups the back of neck, his fingers tangling in her hair. His other covers the hand resting on his knee, interlocking their fingers.

It’s her who pulls them backwards onto the bed, their legs still dangling off the side. Their entwined hands are up by her head now and the hand on his chest is grasping at the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer as she swipes her tongue across his bottom lip. Bob is half laying on her, the hand in her hair untangling itself to gently run down her ribcage through her shirt. She hums in response, and he tenses some but doesn’t stop. Instead, he pulls away from her mouth, and she sighs as his lips press against her jaw.

The movement is just as awkward at first, but he finds a rhythm as he presses a kiss just below her ear then trails them down her throat. His stubble –barely there, but there enough to tickle –brushes her skin and she sighs in content as she loosens the grip on his shirt and tangles her fingers in his hair. Guiding him, carefully, kindly, to the spot on her throat that she wants to feel him mark. The pulse point that drums her heartbeat for this very moment.

He hesitates again, and this time she’s pretty sure it’s because he actually doesn’t know how to give a hickey. So she forces herself to let go of his hair and taps just below his jaw to get his attention. When he pulls away, his cheeks are bright red and flushed, but he’s got a soft smile on his face.

“Let me show you,” she offers, and he nods, letting her take the lead if only for a lesson.

She pushes him onto his back and takes the same position he had been over her. One hand on his rib cage, deftly moving to run her fingers over his abs as she presses a soft kiss to his lips one more time. He tries to pull her back, but she nudges his cheek with her nose, pressing a light kiss there before trailing down his jaw and below his ear –mimicking the movements he had gotten correct. Then, she grazes just at his pulse –presses her tongue against his heartbeat, which spikes the moment her teeth touch his skin –not a bite. Just a little graze. Then she sucks and the sound that comes from his lips is soft but an obvious moan.

When she pulls away, she admires the handiwork with a soft grin and a quick kiss to his jaw one more time. Then she’s looking down at him, hovering just high enough to see the glossy eyed smile on his face. She misses it, but his eyes shift some –gold flickering through as he returns to the original position and repeats the motions one more time. His mouth on hers in a soft but firm kiss. Then quick, soft kisses along her jaw and down her throat –on the opposite side now of where she left his. He follows her steps to the tee, like a lesson he wants to have perfected, and grazes his teeth along her pulse. When it quickens under his tongue, he hums in excitement, unable to help himself as he marks her as his.

He gets a little carried away, enjoying how she squirms under him as he presses kisses and soft bites to her neck. One hickey isn’t enough, and he leaves several before she’s littered in little bruises all over her throat. He’s about to push it a bit further, confident in his movements for the first in…ever, really, when the glass on his table suddenly explodes.

They yank apart, and she’s got a hand over her heart like she’s panicked. He’s staring at the puddle of water and glass that’s littering his nightstand, his eyes wide. She sees it before he does it –sees him pull away, shrink back behind the wall he’s put up to protect himself and anyone he thinks is in danger because of him. Behind the wall he thinks protects her from him.

“Bob,” she whispers, reaching up to try to get him to look at her, but he fights her, refusing to take his eyes from the splinters of glass. “Hey, it’s okay –we got a little carried away. It happens.”

He shakes his head though, and reaches up to wipe his eyes. It’s then that she realizes he’s started crying, and her heart breaks. She pulls her hands away and shifts, sitting up on her knees and wraps her arms around him from behind. Holds him close, and presses her cheek into his hair as she does so. His hands clutch at her arms, holding onto her like she’s the only thing tethering him to this world and the shadows.

“It’s okay,” she promises. And she does mean that. It is okay. It will be, at least. “It’s okay –think of it this way –you broke a glass instead of a person, and that means you know how to direct it towards non-living things.” She’s not sure that’s actually reassuring, but she thinks it is, personally. There are worse things to have broken over a glass of water.

“It could have been you,” he argues, voice shaking as he tries to calm down the tears.

“But it wasn’t,” she reminds him, pulling him closer against her. “It wasn’t, and we don’t focus on the ‘what if’s’ because it’ll just make things worse. You didn’t hurt me. You didn’t hurt yourself. I would say that that’s a key marker of progress.”

He turns some, finally looking up at her with watery eyes. She pulls the sleeve of her shirt down and wipes the tears from his cheeks, smiling at him softly. Slowly, he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her close, resting his cheek against her chest. She hugs him back just as tight, pressing a kiss into his hair.

They sit there for a little while like this. Holding onto each other for dear life; grounding each other in the space they were sharing for the moment. Then Bob sniffles and pulls away, running his hands over his face.

“It’s okay,” he repeats, though she’s certain he’s reassuring himself and not her. “I’m sorry I ruined –,”

“You didn’t ruin shit,” she interrupts, pointing at him in a scolding sort of way. But she’s smirking lightly. “You gave me a hickey. Everything else was just…a bonus.”

“I think I gave you more than one,” he points out, then gently pokes each mark on her throat and counts them. “Seven.”

“I suppose I owe you six more, some time then.”

*****

“Wait,” Walker says, slamming his hands on the table. Bob flinches, and she touches his leg gently under the table. “I just…I truly cannot believe this.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” she says, and Bob takes her hand in his. His attention is focused on the paper in front of him and the spirals he’s drawing. “I told you we were dating.”

Ava and Yelena are both still playing along, though they’re equally as confused. Not by the fact that she and Bob are a thing –but by the fact that they hadn’t actually picked up on it themselves.

“I just –listen. I gotta know,” Walker starts and she’s so certain he’s about to say something stupid. “Isn’t…it’s gotta be weird just saying ‘Bob’ over and over when you’re bed. Like, c’mon. Do you say ‘Robert’? Or ‘Bobby’? Or is it just…literally ‘Bob’? Because honestly, that’s…weird to consider.”

She’s about to argue that it’s weird he’s even thinking about them having sex (which, not that it’s any of his business, but they hadn’t). But Bob speaks up first.

“Her mouth is a little too preoccupied to say anything,” he says, though he’s definitely saying that more to himself than to anyone else.

She chokes, covering her mouth. Everyone else is just…staring at him. He realizes a second too late that he said the inside thought outside. Then he flushes and tries to backtrack.

“I’m sorry, that’s not –I mean –,”

“Bob, you dog!” Alexei cackles, putting a hand on Bob’s shoulder and shaking it some. “Good for you!”

---

Bob Taglist: @ilovemarvel12 @withahappyrefrain (I'm tagging you specifically because you asked me to share with the class and ily)

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds #robert reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #sentry #sentry x reader #thunderbolts #thunderbolts*

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charl0ttan · 2 days ago

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always love talking with my more-than-supportive mom abt trans stuff because its so interesting to get a reality check on how even extremely well meaning cis people think of trans topics. like when i recently told her abt how i identify as having been trans my whole life but not a girl until i was 21 she had this whole earthshaking revelatory moment and as many ways as i tried to word it i just Could Not get her to understand. she insisted that i must have been a girl my whole life, that i must have always felt like i had been born in "The Wrong Body". and when i told her i didnt transition so much out of dysphoria but because i thought it might be nice, and that not having dysphoria is a common but less spoken on aspect of the trans experience, she just couldnt grasp why someone would want to do that. idk i just think its both really interesting and really dire

#trans talk

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imaginestuffs · 3 days ago

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Potion- Bob Reynolds x F! Reader

word count:2,012

warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff

Summary: Bob realizes he's in love, as he replays his favorite memories with you.

inspired by Potion by Djo

When you met Bob for the first time, time seemed to slow down. You’re not exactly sure what happened, but it crashed over you like a wave. His energy was unlike anything you had felt in your entire life. It was strong, it was ever present, it was undeniable, but so pure. His power was clouded with pain and fear, yet you could feel the innocence of a broken boy.

You knew then that you would do anything to protect him from anyone, and when needed, himself.

Something about being with him seemed so simple, so easy. Though he never thought that could be the case. You found him to be a comfort, and you hoped with everything in you that he felt the same for you.

He had told you about his fear of hurting anyone again, and you knew that would be there for quite some time. It might even last a lifetime, but that doesn’t mean you would let him carry the weight by himself.

Every step of the way, you assured him that you’d be there for him.

Bob knew you didn’t know how he felt. He knew you couldn’t read his thoughts.

He just wanted someone to leave a light on for him at the end of the day. He wanted to have someone to come back to after a mission, someone to call home.

He needed to understand what it was to be loved. He searched everywhere, high and low, for a love that was something he knew he could fall back into. Something he knew was steady and sure, he needed stability to keep him grounded, to keep the clouds at bay. But it seemed that the only thing that loved him was those clouds.

At a point in time, things seemed to shift.

Bob began to look at you differently. He began to see something new. Realization was finally striking after so many memories came flooding in.

---

It was 3:00 in the morning when you heard a soft tapping at your door. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and stepped out of bed. Wincing at the cold floor against your feet.

You get to the door and open it just a bit, and there he stood, messy hair, wrinkled pajamas, it was Bob. You could tell by the exhaustion in his eyes that he had not been sleeping well.

“Hey Bob, are you ok, honey?” You always used sweet words when speaking to him. You wanted him to think he was cared for. That he mattered to someone enough to hear those words.

He looked shaken, and you realized what it was. Bob had a nightmare.

“I, I didn’t know what else to do, or where to go.” his voice was quivering, and your heart broke.

“Come on in, you’re always welcome to be in here,” you told him, and opened the door more so he could step past you.

He had looked a bit embarrassed, and you were going to have none of that.

“I hope you don’t feel bad about this. I want you to know that I care, and if you ever need anything, I’ll be here.” Giving his arm a squeeze before gently guiding him over to sit on the bed with you.

“I don’t know how to do this,” came his soft voice.

“Do what Bob?” The question came out so gently. It was a way he was never used to hearing people speak to him.

A shuddering breath spilled out of him, and he shut his eyes tightly. It almost seemed that he was scared to answer you.

“Take your time, honey, we have all night,” you reassured him.

He nodded his head and continued to take deep breaths. Eyes shut and brow furrowed, he sat there in silence. Placing your hand on his knee seemed to bring him back to reality. Your touch was reassuring and steadfast, and it brought him a very rare semblance of peace.

You were content to sit with him in the quiet until he was ready to speak. It took a while before he turned to look at you. When he did, you gave him a soft smile, and he almost broke.

Seeing the tears in his eyes, you let your thumb move in soothing circles against his knee.

“It’s ok, Bob, I’m not going anywhere,” you told him.

“I don’t- I don’t know how to… ask for help,” he revealed to you.

Something in you snapped, and you just wanted to pull him into a hug and never let go. But you held yourself back, not wanting to overwhelm him in a moment of vulnerability.

“Sometimes it’s hard to ask, it feels like you may be seen as weak. Am I right?” not trying to assume what he was feeling in this moment.

He nodded his head and looked away from you.

“I see it as a sign of courage and strength. Knowing when you need help, and being brave enough to admit some things can’t be done alone. You don’t have to do it all alone, Bob. I promise.”

“I’ve never felt this way, I didn’t think anyone would want to help me. I have so much weight to carry.” He told you.

“Well, there are many people here who have grown to care for you. I care for you, and I won’t let you carry the burden alone. We can be in this together if you’d like,” you offered him.

He grabbed your hand as if saying yes. As if saying thank you.

The sun was shining and the air was light. It was a difference compared to the rain you’d been having for a week.

There was something you had been wanting to do for a long time now. You wanted to go for a walk in the sun. But not by yourself, you wanted Bob to come along, so you set off to find him.

It took a bit of searching to find him sitting in front of an open window. The look on his face was so peaceful, he looked like his tension had disappeared.

Making your way over to him slowly, you sat across from him. The warmth and soft breeze coming from the window were comforting.

Bob looked at you with a soft smile.

“What are you doing here?” he asked with curiosity at your quiet entry.

“I was looking for you, and I found you, so I’m here. If you’re alright with that,” Your eyebrow raised, and a smile took over your lips.

He chuckled softly before nodding. “It’s alright with me,” He nudged your knee with his.

“I wanted to ask if you’d like to go on a walk with me?” Your question hung in the air for a few seconds.

He looked like he was contemplating, “I’d like that very much.” his smile grew, and so did yours.

You stood and reached out your hand for him to take. His hand slid into yours, palms brushing and fingers intertwining. It made your cheeks warm up.

He saw your eyes soften as you gently tugged him to follow you.

“It’s finally warm outside. I feel like it’s been years since the sun showed herself,” you said as you stepped into the daylight.

Bob stared at you as your head tilted toward the sun, and any tension you had had left you. You looked so light, like the only things that existed were you and the sun.

His eyes couldn’t seem to leave you, and his grip on your hand tightened.

You looked over at him just to see him staring. Chuckling, you began to tug him toward a secluded trail you had found at the park a while ago.

“Walking with you is everything I needed today. The sun, the warmth, and you.” his heart skipped at your words.

Not being used to people talking to or about him like that, he was shocked. Despite you always being that sweet, he didn’t think he could ever get used to it.

Bob came to a halt and gently pulled you closer to him. You looked at him with confusion, not sure what he may be doing. That is, until he hugged you, he wrapped his arms around you and for just a moment you were holding the sun in your arms.

He just glowed, his aura was intense but in a way that made you feel safer than you ever have.

Relaxing into his hold, you let yourself be in that moment.

Bob truly felt like you were his home; you were his peace of mind.

There you sat on your bed with a book in your hand. Waiting around wasn’t something you usually did for most people. But he wasn’t most people, he was your person.

Bob had gone on his first mission with Yelena and John, and to be honest you were scared. You had wanted to go with them, to be there for him but Valentina refused.

None of you understood why, but you had no choice.

So you stayed back, it was odd not seeing him every day. It was odd not catching his gaze from across the room, or spending nights talking about everything and anything because he was too scared to sleep.

Your bed felt empty as you sat alone on the left side because he preferred the right side. It just didn’t feel right being on his side of the bed.

As a result of his not being beside you, you stayed up. Unable to fall asleep despite how tired you were. Having no clue when he would return, you decided waiting for him was the best bet. And if you fell asleep, you chose to leave the light on for him. So he would know you were waiting for him to come home.

Well, as it turned out, you eventually did fall asleep. Your book was forgotten beside you, as your face was buried in your pillow. But the light was left on.

Bob returned from the mission completely exhausted. All he wanted was to take a shower and see you. Get to lie with you, as you gently coaxed him into a peaceful sleep.

He couldn’t explain how different it was to turn and not see you standing beside him. Despite every ounce of support he got from Yelena, she wasn’t you. That meant nothing against her; she was a great help, and he was so grateful, but she couldn’t do all that you did.

Yelena couldn’t calm his fears with the touch of her hand. She couldn’t give him one look and have all his tension dissipate. She wasn’t his home, she wasn’t his person. That was you.

He took the quickest shower of his life and raced toward your room. He saw the door slightly ajar, and light seeping out from inside. His soul filled with warmth. You left the light on for him.

---

He looked to his side and saw you with your head against his shoulder. His arm was slung around your shoulders, he gently pulled you closer. You sighed sleepily and tucked your head against his chest. It all felt completely surreal, he was the one protecting you, keeping you safe from your fears.

Your eyes opened, and you looked up at him with a sleepy grin.

“I missed you.” Your voice was groggy, and your touch gentle as you grabbed his hand resting on your shoulder to pull yourself tighter into his embrace.

His smile was soft as he looked down at you.

“You missed me?” he teased.

“Uh-huh. I miss you whenever I can’t see you,” you admitted to him.

“You miss me while you sleep?” he chuckled softly.

“Of course I do. I also know that I love waking up to you next to me. In fact,” You paused for a moment, “I just love you.” You revealed to him.

At that moment, he finally realized he was in love.

Wholeheartedly in love with you, and he told you so.

“I love you, too.”

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kxsagi · 2 days ago

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Hiiii!!! I was wondering if you could write Rin, Sae, Isagi and others with an S/O who gets annoyed easily? Like not full blown anger but like dirty looks a lot to whatever’s making them angry?

-P.S. I hope you’re doing wonderful! Pls remember to eat drink and sleep. I love your works

“𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧”

a/n: why is reader kinda reminding me of sae

also thank you so much! i am doing well and i hope you are too! i don't ever neglect self-care so don't you either, queen. love you!

ft. itoshi rin, itoshi sae, isagi yoichi, kaiser michael, mikage reo, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito

itoshi rin

he noticed it on the second date when you glared at the waiter for forgetting your drink and then sweetly said, “it’s okay, take your time,” with the fakest smile known to mankind.

rin just blinked and thought: oh. you’re terrifying. i like that.

he secretly loves it when you give him those little death glares, like when he asks, “do you really need five types of hot sauce?”

you’ll slowly turn to him, furrow your brows like you're staring into his soul, and rin will immediately hold his hands up like, “i said nothing. you’re right. continue.”

gets a little smirk every time you look like you're about to blow a fuse over something stupid like people standing too close in line.

you mutter “are you serious right now” under your breath at least ten times a day and rin lives for it.

surprisingly good at calming you down in his deadpan way – just throws an arm around you and whispers, “don’t commit murder in public. you look too good to go to jail.”

itoshi sae

oh he thinks you’re hilarious.

loves pushing your buttons just to watch the annoyed face you make. he’ll tap his fork against the table repeatedly and be like, “oh? does this bother you?”

you glare at him over your drink like you're about to file for divorce and he just chuckles.

whenever you're annoyed at someone else, he just stands behind you looking proud like, “yes, that’s my girl. destroy them with passive aggression.”

the type to hold your hand and lean down all amused: “princesa, relax. you’re gonna burn holes in them if you keep staring like that.”

sometimes purposely says something just slightly incorrect to watch you spiral into irritation, like calling your favorite show the wrong name.

you hit him with a side-eye and he just laughs and kisses your temple like, “calm down, miss attitude.”

isagi yoichi

tries so hard not to laugh when you’re annoyed because he knows if he does, you’ll aim your laser glare at him.

you’re both walking and someone bumps into you and doesn’t say sorry, cue you muttering “rude” under your breath and giving them the look.

isagi looks away like he's pretending not to know you.

but lowkey loves how expressive you are. he always knows when something’s off because you’ll start doing that little sigh-grimace combo.

if you're annoyed at him, he gets nervous. starts doing damage control like, “do you want me to fix it? i’ll fix it. i’ll buy you food. please stop looking at me like that.”

calls you “grumpy cutie” under his breath sometimes and hopes you don’t hear.

you definitely do. you just glare harder.

kaiser michael

he thinks it’s adorable.

you give the most intense side-eyes and he always goes, “aww, someone’s mad again. it’s so cute when you get feisty.”

you: squints at him like a disappointed teacher.

him: smirking harder.

he finds it hot when you're irritated at other people, especially in public – you’re all soft and sweet until someone cuts in line or talks loudly on speaker.

he’s in the background like, “get ‘em, baby.”

when you glare at him, he dramatically clutches his chest and goes, “ow! you wound me! your gaze is like daggers, meine liebe.”

makes it worse on purpose just to see how annoyed he can get you before you throw a pillow at him.

mikage reo

he buys you things when you get annoyed.

like, you glare at a sales assistant for being rude and reo immediately drags you out like, “you deserve better. pick a new store. actually, buy the whole store.”

thinks your dirty looks are iconic. sometimes he tries to copy them in the mirror and ends up laughing at himself.

he loves watching you get annoyed at something dumb like a commercial or your phone lagging, and he’ll coo, “do you need help, baby? or should i just sit here and admire how scary you look right now?”

he keeps a “mood diary” of your expressions, especially the annoyed ones. “day 18: she glared at the barista for spelling her name wrong again. breathtaking.”

shidou ryusei

oh he lives for it.

you glare, and he grins. you scoff, and he cackles. you say “you’re annoying.” and he says “so are you, baby.”

literally follows you around asking annoying questions just to get the face out of you.

“what’s that face? what’s that face mean? are you mad? are you mad mad?”

you groan, “shidou, i swear–”

“swear what? you gonna kiss me? you look like you wanna kiss me.”

if anyone else annoys you, he immediately threatens violence in your honor.

your glares = green light for him to go feral.

“she’s angry, huh? who did it? point me at ‘em.”

karasu tabito

first time he saw your “i’m not mad, just deeply judging you” face, he physically flinched and went “okay damn… what did i do?”

now? he’s addicted to it. actively tries to catch you in annoyed mode because it’s his favorite version of you.

you sigh and glare at your phone? “what happened, baby? you arguing with twitter again?”

you glare at the microwave for taking too long? “you look like you're gonna beat that thing up. should i get popcorn?”

if someone talks too loud near you in public and you do the slow head turn with that look, karasu’s right next to you whispering, “you want me to throw hands or…?”

when you’re annoyed at him, he defends himself by gaslighting in the most unserious way: “me? bothering you? i would never. i'm a joy to be around. a blessing.”

you don’t even say anything, just cross your arms and tilt your head, and he immediately goes, “okay okay fine, i’ll stop breathing too loud.”

he is your #1 hype man and bodyguard rolled into one whenever someone else makes you mad. you give them a look, and he gives them a worse one.

“that guy looked at you funny.”

“karasu, i looked at him funny.”

“yeah and he didn’t immediately apologize, so i’m about to fight him anyway.”

474 notes · View notes

leviruthan · 3 days ago

Text

asking them if you can hold their hands

summary : reader has auditorial and visual hallucinations, when first meeting them reader requests to touch hands to ensure they're real [requested] (hi I accidentally deleted your message 😭)

characters : all overbloat boys + kalim

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

riddle would be really taken aback

not only hand holding seems kinda inappropriate, you just met

"excuse me?? why do you wish to touch my hand?" he would ask in a confused and a bit strict tone

after you explain it, he has an uncertain and worried look in his eyes

seeing the genuine need in your expression, he would nod stiffly

"very well" he says, extending his hand with a formal air

his movements precise and a little stiff, but his touch is gentle

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

"tch. first meeting and you're already asking for weird favors" he grumbles. crossing his arms loosely over his chest, his golden eyes narrowing slightly as he took you in

inside though, he feels a smug kind of amusement

when you tell him the reason why, he first thinks why should he even bother helping

after a moment's pause though, he would reluctantly offer a hand because well why not, it's not that of a big favour. and you better remember him as being real rather than part of your hallucinations

his palm would probably feel warm and calloused

"get it over with" he'd mutter, though his hand would remain still until you withdrew

MALLEUS DRACONIA

extremely surprised at the request

after all not many people are bold enough to ask to hold his hand

should he be offended since you're randomly asking something that is considered intimate out of the blue when you don't know each other that well? but all he feels is curiosity and amusement

when you explain why malleus would be intrigued

"you wish to ensure my tangibility?" he would ask

without hesitation, he would extend a hand. his long, elegant fingers held still and waiting

his touch is be cool, like smooth stone warmed by the sun

"does this reassure you?"

AZUL ASHENGROTTO

"WH- ah, an interesting request" he'd comment, his tone measured (ignore the first incomplete word) "may I ask why?"

when you tell him why his eyes widen behind his glasses. he would extend his hand, slowly and deliberately with a formal air like he's making a business deal

his touch would be cool and smooth

he'd observe your reaction, if you visibly relax or seem comforted by the touch, his eyes would soften

he would ask a few gentle questions afterward, both out of politeness and genuineness

IDIA SHROUD

idia would flinch when he hears your request, his entire body language radiating discomfort

he would take a step back instinctively

"e-eh?! t-touch?! um I mean w-why?" he'd stammer, his gaze darting nervously avoiding eye contact

his visibly stiffened body would start to relax a bit when you explain the reason

but hand holding!? couldn't there be any other way?

seeing the genuine need in your eyes, he stops himself from voicing his thoughts... it's just hand holding....NOOO

sensing your hopeful gaze, he would finally decide to slowly, reluctantly, extend a hand

his skin would feel slightly clammy and cool to the touch and he'd likely pull back as soon as it was done

"o-okay, done. are you... feeling more logged in with reality now?"

please say yes cause he can't do that again! even if he didn't really mind it, he doesn't want to die from sudden physical contact with human beings

KALIM AL ASIM

kalim would beam, his usual boundless enthusiasm undimmed by your unusual request

no hesitation "oh! you want to hold hands? sure thing!" he'd exclaim, his smile wide and welcoming he would immediately reach out

his hand would be warm and his grip firm and friendly

he wouldn't mind holding hands even if you don't tell him why you want to, but you do anyway

"don't worry, I am totally real!" he would say with his eyes sparkling with genuine warmth and a complete lack of hesitation or judgment

he will ask you questions about this out of curiosity and because he wants to know you more and so that he can make sure you're comfortable when you're around him <3

JAMIL VIPER

jamil would initially eyes you with suspicion and a look that clearly says why?

once you explained, a subtle shift would occur in his demeanor, a hint of understanding softening his gaze

he would offer his hand with a calm and steady demeanor "if it provides you with reassurance"

he would observe you carefully, if it helped, he'd simply nod

VIL SCHOENHEIT

alright, he has dealt with fans, and some of them were...not that normal, and tend to make unusual request sometimes

so when you ask if you can hold his hand, he would think you're probably another fan

would let you do it with a fan service smile

if you explain the real reason he will look surprised before his expression returning back to the normal one

"hopefully, that has helped?" he'd watch your reaction with keen interest, his usual theatrical flair replaced by a quiet attentiveness

431 notes · View notes

headspace-hotel · 20 hours ago

Text

i spent like 5 hours deep diving into the blog of some guy who self identifies as a "rationalist" and looking at the array of opinions/ideas being expressed on the blog and in the comments

made me think about how "the left" is actually really, really homogeneous in terms of beliefs that are acceptable to express and discuss, whereas with "centrist" and "the right" you see written out the internal variety and incoherence that I think characterizes most peoples beliefs and ideas

i forgot the name of the blog, i'll find it again later. basically the guy self identifies as "anti-woke" at the same time as being progressive on some aspects of society, "centrist" on others, and...definitely not fascist but kind of "reddit evo-psych" on a few, pursuing a general open-minded approach to things.

it definitely made a few things click for me in terms of right wing stereotypes of "leftists" and concern with "cancel culture." At one point he discusses his experience being ""cancelled"" for a comment that got misunderstood, and from the description, the harassment, threats of harm and isolation that ensued were genuinely traumatic.

It honestly reminded me of my experiences on Tumblr, where since I was 18 I've been writing posts about whatever I happen to be learning or thinking about at the time--- some of which were ignorant or poorly worded or offensive--- and getting hate for it.

Before I turned off asks completely and sort of walled myself off from engaging in discussions with people, I got messages constantly telling me to kill myself, or that the world would be a better place if I was dead, or that [speaker] hoped I would die, or that I was virtually every kind of bigot you could imagine, and at least some number of political bloggers on here nursed enough of a long-term hatred of me that I actively came to mind as someone they despised.

This was in fact distressing, especially the fact that I could never predict what kind of post would elicit this reaction and nothing I did would make it stop.

It's easy to dismiss this as just, like, the typical online experience, and I dismissed it myself like "yeah yeah who hasn't gotten a bunch of suicide bait for making a poorly worded joke"...but it really shouldn't be. It occurs to me now that normalizing receiving harassment also normalizes participating in it. And if my real life face and name were attached to this account, that kind of harassment would be fucking terrifying.

It also occurs to me that "the right" despite having an incomprehensible array of beliefs on non-essentials, are not constantly acting like they want to kill each other with hammers.

Jack Posobiec's Unhumans, despite being a work of fascist garbage, had a gleam of genuine insight in it: when suggesting strategies for countering the "left," it mostly recommended not directly engaging and instead waiting for the left to rip itself apart internally. It seems like multiple right-wing writers and bloggers have suggested walking back the criticisms of "cancel culture" simply because leftists harm other leftists much more with "cancel culture" than they do their actual political enemies.

I'm thoughtful about it...

503 notes · View notes

luv-lock · 2 days ago

Text

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤFATHER, I HAVE SINNEDㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Matt Murdock x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Would He Be When He's Obsessed?

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

It started with your voice.

You were a witness in one of his pro bono cases. Not a victim—no, not exactly. You had seen something. Something dangerous, something twisted. And you were scared, but not fragile. Your voice didn’t tremble. Not once. Even when your hands did. And Matt… Matt heard you before anything else.

It’s the first thing that gets him. Your voice.

Not because it was seductive, not because it was sweet. But because it was real. It had weight. Color. Soul. It lingers in the room even when you leave.

Then came your heartbeat.

You lied to protect someone else. Not yourself. You thought no one would notice. But Matt did.

It was the tiniest hitch. The faintest tremor in rhythm.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Skip.

He didn’t call you out. He just sat there, hands folded, pretending he wasn’t losing sleep over what it meant.

And when you came back the next day—he knew your footsteps.

Not because he memorized them (he did), but because they made him breathe differently.

Matt falls in love like it’s a courtroom confession. Like it’s a sermon. Like it’s a sin.

He starts showing up in places he shouldn’t be. You think it’s coincidence. He lets you think that.

When you pass by his office, he’s always free. Always smiling that quiet, tired smile. Always offering you coffee.

Always noticing when you switch perfumes. When you’re sad. When you’re scared.

He never asks why. He waits until you tell him.

But when you leave, the look on his face changes.

It’s not soft anymore. It’s ravenous. Like the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is pressing against the walls of his skin, desperate to crawl out and see you.

You don’t notice how many people disappear.

That guy who scared you in the subway? Gone.

That creep who commented on your shirt outside the deli? In traction.

The ex who kept texting you at 3am? His phone was found shattered near a rooftop.

Matt knows it’s wrong.

He prays after. He gets on his knees, bloody, teeth clenched, whispering to God: “Forgive me. But don’t take her from me.”

And the thing is…

He means it.

He wants forgiveness—but not enough to stop.

Not if it means losing you.

He never touches you until you touch him first.

He holds himself back like he’s one breath away from falling apart.

Your fingers graze his arm, and it’s over. He can’t forget it.

That night he jerks off in the shower, his head hitting the tile, whispering your name like a prayer.

He makes you feel safe.

Of course he does.

He listens. He protects. He gives you just enough mystery to stay magnetic.

But you don’t know what it costs him.

You don’t know he sits on rooftops outside your apartment listening to your heartbeat while you sleep.

You don’t know he’s already chosen the exact moment he’ll finally tell you who he really is.

When you finally say, “I think I love you.”

He won’t let you leave.

Not because he chains you down.

Not because he begs.

But because the world becomes worse when you’re not around.

And he makes sure you see that.

Your friends stop answering. Your life gets harder. Everything tilts.

And Matt is always there to catch you.

The only constant.

The only man who never lets you fall.

And maybe that’s how he wins.

Not with lies.

But with truths that are shaped, softened, sharpened until you believe he’s the only one left.

Matt is not the kind of man who obsesses with wild passion.

He obsesses like a confessional booth.

Quiet. Slow. Relentless.

He becomes your shadow. Your protector. Your lover. Your God.

And when you finally realize he’s the one behind the curtain—behind the blood, the bruises, the justice—

It’s already too late to walk away.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep in his office.

It was late. You were stressed. The case dragged on.

Matt offered you the couch, that same one Foggy calls “the death trap.” But you curled up, muttered a soft “Wake me in twenty,” and closed your eyes like nothing could hurt you.

You didn’t see the way Matt just stood there.

Frozen.

Your shoes were off. Your breathing slowed. Your heartbeat settled into that rhythm he knows better than any gospel hymn.

And suddenly—he couldn’t sit. Couldn’t leave.

He just…

Listened to you.

He stood in silence for two hours.

Two hours.

Listening to every little sigh. Counting each time you shifted. Committing the exact way your spine curled under that ugly plaid blanket to memory.

He didn’t touch you.

He didn’t dare.

Because if he did, he wouldn’t stop.

And Matt always stops.

Until he doesn’t.

Matt is unraveling.

You see it in the little things.

His jaw is tighter. His knuckles more bruised. He smiles too hard, talks too gently, like he's afraid he’ll crack if he lets it slip.

He’s spiraling and you think he’s just tired.

So you tell him to rest.

You brush his arm and say, “Go home, Matt. You need sleep.”

And he almost laughs.

Because sleep? Sleep is where he dreams of you.

Tied in red silk.

Calling his name.

Begging. Crying. Bleeding.

Kissing.

Always kissing.

It gets worse when you start dating someone.

He tries to be calm. Polite.

You mention a name—James. A guy from your building. He works in tech. Sweet. Smart. Harmless.

Matt smiles.

Nods.

Says, “Good for you.”

Then that night, he’s in his suit. Standing outside James’s window.

Listening. Cataloguing every sin. Every weakness.

Every reason why he’s not worthy of you.

James stares at his phone too long. He doesn’t text you back fast enough. He watches porn with other women.

Matt hears it all. Files it away like a legal brief.

He doesn’t kill him.

But James leaves you three weeks later without a word.

Blocks your number. Moves apartments. Disappears.

You cry on Matt’s couch again.

And Matt just holds you.

Gentle. So gentle.

Murmuring, “You deserve better. Someone who really sees you.”

And when your heartbeat flutters against his chest,

He knows.

He’s winning.

He starts touching you more.

Hand on your lower back.

Fingers brushing your wrist when he hands you coffee.

His knee bumping yours under the table and not moving away.

Every touch is a test.

A line.

A map.

He’s learning your body like scripture.

And when you smile at him, not flinching, not pulling away—

Matt swears he can taste your pulse on his tongue.

He wants to tell you everything.

He rehearses it in his head. Every day.

“I’m Daredevil. I love you. I love you so much it makes me mad.”

He never says it.

Because if he does, you might leave.

And Matt?

Matt would burn Hell’s Kitchen to ash if it meant keeping you.

So instead, he bleeds behind closed doors.

You see the bruises. The busted lip.

He says it was a mugger.

You ask if he needs help.

He just leans into your palm when you cradle his face and whispers, “This is the only thing that heals me.”

He shatters in silence.

And soon, the Devil wants more.

Not just the soft parts.

Not just your laugh, your trust, your presence.

He wants your fear.

He wants your desperation.

He wants you to say, “Don’t leave. Don’t ever leave me.”

Because then you’ll finally be like him.

So one night, when you’re walking home…

You hear footsteps behind you.

Too steady. Too close.

You text Matt.

“I think someone’s following me.”

Seconds later, he replies:

“I’m already here.”

The man following you disappeared.

Just… gone.

One second you were gripping your phone like a lifeline. The next, there was silence. Heavy. Drenched in something wrong.

You looked around. Nothing but shadows and city breath.

Then Matt was there.

Appearing like he knew.

Like he’d been waiting.

You didn’t see the blood on his knuckles.

Didn’t see the smear of red across his cuff.

Didn’t hear the way his heart slammed against his ribs when you looked at him and whispered:

“Thank you.”

God.

You thanked him.

You hugged him.

You touched him like he was your savior, not your stalker.

Like he wasn’t the reason you were scared in the first place.

He held you tight. Too tight.

Buried his face in your hair and inhaled you like communion.

Like forgiveness.

Like absolution.

After that night—when you clung to him, breath shaking, eyes wide with relief—Matt couldn’t stop hearing your voice.

“God isn’t listening. But I still pray for you.”

Not in memory. Not in dreams.

He hears it in church pews. In alleyways. In his head.

“Thank you, Matt.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He’s still praying, still going to Sunday Mass, but not because he wants redemption.

He just wants permission.

Permission to love you.

To want you.

To protect you, even if it means doing something unforgivable.

That man who was following you?

He was a creep, yeah. But not a killer.

Not dangerous enough for what Matt did to him.

He told himself it was justice.

But it wasn’t.

It was personal.

You start noticing him more.

He’s always around. Always close.

You mention it casually one day. “You’re like my guardian angel or something.”

Matt laughs. But it’s hollow.

Because the truth is, he’s listening to you sleep at night.

Your apartment's four blocks from his, but sound travels if you know how to catch it.

Your heartbeat is different when you dream. Softer.

He memorized it after the first week.

Foggy starts noticing changes.

Matt’s always distracted. Jittery.

When he smiles, it’s not at anything in the room. It’s at the thought of you.

He starts cancelling cases just to be available when you call.

“You okay, Matt?” Foggy asks once.

Matt lies. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He is tired.

Of pretending he don't want you.

Of pretending he’s just your friend.

Then your ex comes back into town.

A guy from college. You mention him like it’s nothing.

Matt’s hands curl into fists under the table.

“He was kind of a jerk,” you say. “But we were young. It wasn’t that serious.”

Matt doesn’t hear any of that.

He just hears:

Someone else touched you.

Someone else had you.

That night, Daredevil finds him.

Talks to him. Follows him.

And then he hurts him. Not enough to kill.

But enough to make sure he never looks your way again.

You never find out.

You just tell Matt one day, “It’s weird, my ex texted me once, then never again.”

Matt hums. “Probably for the best.”

You nod.

He smiles.

He’s already taken care of it.

But the guilt is starting to eat him.

He kneels in church longer now.

Rosary clutched so hard his knuckles go white.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

His voice shakes.

“There’s a woman. I care about her. Too much.”

The priest says nothing. Just listens.

“I think I’d kill for her,” Matt whispers. “I think I already have.”

And then you cry.

Not over danger, or stalkers, or work.

You cry because you’re exhausted.

You miss your family. You feel alone in the city.

You call Matt.

It’s late. You didn’t think he’d pick up.

But he’s there in minutes.

Not dressed as Daredevil. Just Matt. Just a man with too many sins and not enough grace.

He doesn’t touch you, not yet.

Just sits close. Listens. Murmurs.

“You’re not alone.”

“I’m here.”

“I’ll always be here.”

You lean your head on his shoulder.

He stops breathing.

That night, he doesn’t sleep.

Just sits in the dark, hand pressed to the place where your head rested.

Like he’s afraid it’ll fade if he moves.

“I love you.”

He says it to the room. To God. To no one.

Because he can’t say it to you.

Not yet.

Not until you love him too.

Not until you realize he’s the only one who never left.

Matt is a good man.

At least, he used to be.

He fights for justice by day, by night—bleeds for it. Believes in it. He’s stood up to Wilson Fisk, the Hand, demons in Hell’s Kitchen and in his own mind. But nothing—nothing—has ever made him question his soul the way you do.

He knows it.

Because it’s no longer just obsession.

It’s something crueler.

Hungrier.

Holier.

Every time you call his name, every time you smile—he feels it.

That creeping black thing in his chest. The one that says: She’s yours. She doesn’t know it yet, but she is.

He punishes himself afterward.

Pushes his workouts too hard. Doesn’t eat. Wraps his hands until the knuckles bleed.

He even breaks down in confession again.

“Father… I need to stop.”

“Stop what, son?”

“Her. Me. I’m watching her. Thinking about her all the time. I haven’t done anything, I swear I haven’t, but I want to. I want to be near her so badly it feels like I’m rotting from the inside out.”

Silence.

He grips the wooden lattice like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

“I think I’m going to hurt someone again. Just to keep her safe. I think I already have.”

He tries to avoid you after that.

Thinks distance will save you.

He stops answering texts. Ignores calls. Cancels plans.

But every time your name pops up on his phone, his stomach clenches. His heart races.

And then the panic sets in.

What if she thinks I don’t care?

What if she lets someone else in while I’m gone?

What if she stops loving me before she even starts?

The next morning, he’s at your door. Disheveled. Red-eyed. Apologizing.

“Sorry,” he rasps. “Work’s been… hell.”

You smile. You forgive him, easily. Too easily.

That’s the worst part.

You always let him back in.

And he hates himself for it.

He lies awake at night with the image of your smile in his mind and the weight of your future on his shoulders.

He’s building his own private altar of sin—made of memories.

The way your voice lingers in his ears long after you hang up.

The shape of your silhouette in your apartment window.

The soft gasp you make when you laugh too hard.

He wants all of it.

He wants to keep you in a world only he can touch.

But that’s not love.

Not the kind God would approve of.

So he drags himself back to the church. Again. Again.

He sits under the crucifix and whispers to Christ like a madman.

“I know it’s wrong.”

“I know I don’t deserve her.”

“But I can’t stop.”

And in that silence, he almost believes the cross is watching him back. Judging him.

You start noticing something's off.

He's quieter. Distant, but clingier. He doesn’t touch you—he never does—but he hovers. Shadows you. Shows up everywhere. It's like you can feel his presence before you even hear him.

One night, you finally ask.

“Matt… are you okay?”

He almost breaks. Right there. Almost confesses everything.

That he’s the reason your ex vanished.

That he listens to you sleep.

That he has a drawer filled with tiny mementos of you—notes, receipts, photos. One of your gloves you left behind in his office once. He’s never returned it.

But instead, he lies.

“Yeah,” he says with a broken smile. “Just tired. Work stuff.”

He always lies.

And when he gets home, he lets himself fall apart.

Tears. Real ones. The quiet, angry kind.

The kind that come when guilt meets longing and turns into despair.

He drops to his knees in front of the cross above his bed and sobs.

Not because he touched you.

Not because he hurt you.

But because he wants to.

He wants to hold you, trap you, chain you to his side, body and soul.

And it terrifies him.

Because if you ever did love him back…

If you ever kissed him, reached for him, whispered his name in desire—

He’d never let you go.

Not even if it meant damnation.

It happens after a date.

Not his date—yours.

He hears your laughter from across the street. The rustle of your coat as you walk beside some man. A heartbeat that isn’t his. A kiss that doesn’t belong to him.

You’ve moved on.

Or maybe you never even saw him that way.

He’s trembling by the time you go inside. Hands clenched. Teeth grinding. The red of his suit still on under his coat, like some twisted second skin. His fists still smell like blood.

He’s shaking—shaking—with the need to go to you.

Not to talk. Not to explain.

Just to see you.

Just to make sure you’re still his.

Even if you never were.

You’re in your apartment when he shows up.

It’s late. Past midnight. You're brushing your teeth in a hoodie and nothing else, padding barefoot through your quiet space, when you hear the knock.

Three soft raps.

Then silence.

You open the door—and he’s there.

Rain clinging to his hair, breath shallow, eyes red like he hasn’t slept in days.

“Matt?”

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t wait.

He steps inside and closes the door behind him, the click echoing like a gunshot.

You freeze. You’ve never seen him like this.

Unshaven. Undone. Unholy.

“Did you have a good night?” he asks quietly, voice low and flat.

“…What?”

“I heard you laughing,” he says. “With him.”

You back up slightly. “Matt—were you following me?”

His lips twitch. A bitter smile.

“I’ve always been following you.”

You try to speak, but he’s already closing the distance, one hand reaching up—hovering beside your cheek like he’s trying not to touch you. Trying to be good.

He fails.

His fingers trace your jaw like prayer beads, slow and trembling.

“I tried to stay away,” he whispers. “I tried so hard, sweetheart.”

“Matt—”

“But I hear you. All the time. Your voice, your breath, your heartbeat. I dream about it. Do you know how hard that is for me? Do you know what it's like, knowing every sound your body makes—how it changes when you’re turned on, when you’re scared, when you’re happy—and not being allowed to touch it?”

Your mouth goes dry.

“Matt… I think you need to go.”

His hand drops. But he doesn’t move.

Instead, his voice lowers. Broken. Raw.

“I can smell him on you.”

You gasp.

“I should’ve never let it get this far,” he breathes. “But I’m tired of pretending I’m not in love with you. That I haven’t wanted you every single second I’ve known you. I need you, and I’m done asking.”

Your back hits the wall before you realize you’re moving. His body cages you in, but he doesn’t touch you. Not yet.

“You can scream,” he says, voice deadly calm. “You can slap me. I’ll leave. I’ll never come back. But if you let me touch you now, just once—I won’t stop.”

His face hovers inches from yours. So close you can feel the warmth of his breath, the tension in his body like a wire pulled tight.

“…Tell me no.”

Silence.

Your heart races.

He can hear it.

“Tell me you don’t want this.”

You don’t.

And that’s when his lips crash against yours.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

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liminalmemories21 · 2 days ago

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Epiphanies on a bathroom floor (911 ficlet - post episode 8x17)

@cecilyv and I took a crack at another version of what could have happened post 8x17. (entertainingly, I still haven't seen the episode - @cecilyv has though, so slightly more informed vibes this time around)

------------

Buck gets back from the scene, from the building falling to pieces around them, and locks himself in Eddie’s bathroom. Doesn’t feel like his house. Again. He stands, staring at himself in the mirror, rocking forward on his toes. His heart pounding in his chest, hammering against his breast bone like it's trying to escape.

He barely recognizes the person looking back.

Eddie knocks, asks if he’s okay. Buck’s not sure exactly what to say, what he should say, what Eddie wants to hear. Whatever he ends up saying must have been good enough because Eddie tells him that he and Chris are going to Pepa’s.

Good, that’s good. More people Buck doesn’t have to put a brave face on for, any longer. He listens to them leave. In theory the house is empty now. He could unlock the door, go sit somewhere more comfortable for his breakdown. Go back to the church, double the number of times he’s gone in a decade in a weekend.

Doesn’t move.

Doesn’t know if the earthquake was a sign from God that he was blaspheming, but he can’t tempt fate again. Doesn’t have another earthquake or lightning strike in him right now. Bobby, God, whomever is watching over him and letting him royally fuck up.

There’s a noise, someone opening the front door, footsteps. He wonders what Eddie forgot. Then a knock on the door and, “Evan?”

He feels tears prickle at the corners of his eyes and squeezes them shut. Grips the edge of the counter until he feels it digging into his palms. Can’t start crying now. Not sure he’d ever stop. Breathes through it until he thinks his voice will be steady.

“Tommy?”

“Hen called me. Said she was worried about you after that last call.”

And she’d called Tommy? Has no idea what to do with that.

“She thought Eddie would be here, but apparently he’s at his aunt’s?” Tommy sounds baffled. He doesn’t have the energy to explain. He’s not sure what to think about the idea that Tommy was Hen’s first call after Eddie.

Just says, “Yeah.” And then out of some kind of loyalty, or something, adds, “I, uh, I said it was okay.” It’s not Eddie’s fault that he was made wrong.

Tommy makes a non-committal noise. “Do you want to come out?” He doesn’t think he makes a noise, but he must, because Tommy’s instantly backtracking, “Or I can sit here and wait until you’re ready.”

It takes him a second to place that tone of voice, and then he wants to cringe his way into a corner, because that’s the ‘talk the crazy person off the ledge’ voice. The first responder, ‘calm the victim down’ voice. He knows that voice; he uses that voice.

Ma’am, I’m not Satan, my name is Buck. He really was begging to get smited, wasn’t he?

Slides down the wall instead, down down down, until he’s sitting on the floor. Wraps his arms around his legs, thinks he’s as small as he can be. Tilts his head against the door with a thunk. He’s sure that Tommy has better places to be, things he should be doing. He sits, for a second, a minute, expecting him to go. He should go. But then he hears Tommy moving, swearing softly, grunting when he hits the ground. His hip must be hurting him again, it does sometimes -- had always enjoyed getting his hands on him when it had, before, rubbing muscle cream into it, finding the knots and pushing until they loosened, making it better.

Now, he thinks he should get back up, open the door -- keeping Tommy down here, with him -- he’s doing exactly what Eddie said he always did. Worries his lip between his teeth. Maybe he’d never made it better; maybe he’d always made it worse.

Can’t bring himself to move. If he’s quiet, he thinks he can hear Tommy breathing and that has to be enough.

He’s silent too long, because Tommy says, "Evan, I need you to keep talking to me.”

He's foggy enough that it takes a minute to figure out why. "You think I have a concussion?"

"Well, Hen thinks it’s a possibility, and I make it a policy not to argue with Hen." He snorts wetly. Gets an amused hum in response, and then, “Since I can't get in there and check, I'm going to need you to talk to me until I can. Okay?"

Concussion protocols. He can do that. Could do it in his sleep. "Um, my name is Evan Buckley." Pauses. "Do you know you and Maddie are the only people who call me Evan. Well, my parents. But I don't like it when they do it. You and Maddie are the only people who do it and I like it."

Hears Tommy make an indistinct noise he can't parse. Keeps going.

"President is, uh, Trump. Fuck all our lives." He hadn’t cared the first time, Washington was so far away, had so little impact on his day to day until fire season rolled around. He thinks about Tommy, Hen and Karen and Josh and all the other people who dealt with the fear and anxiety every single day. He should have cared. It should have mattered. It’s just another way he failed them without knowing; another way he could have, should have been better.

"Umm, what else. Oh right, what day of the week is it." That stumps him. Thinks backwards, flips through the shift calendar in his head. Still nothing. "Okay, I don't know that. But, to be fair, I don't think I knew what day of the week it was before the earthquake, so it shouldn't count."

He can tell you how many days it's been since Bobby died though. How many days he's been trying to hold everything and everyone together with tape and string and he's not Bobby, he's not enough. He can't do it. Eddie made that very clear.

“Two out of three,” Tommy says. “Good enough for government work.” He waits for Tommy to leave. He’s done his duty. Checked on him. One more way he’s making himself the problem - pulling Tommy away from whatever he’d been doing, making him drive out of his way to come check on him. Hears Tommy shift to find a different position on the other side of the door instead, jeans rustling when his legs rub together. “Now that’s out of the way, how’ve you been doing?”

Pepa told him to accept change and Bobby told him to be there for people, that they’d need him, that he’d be alright — and he whispers, soft enough that Tommy shouldn’t be able to hear him, even back to back against the same door, “I’m not okay, Bobby said, but I’m not — and Eddie said--“ and trails off.

Closes his eyes. Swallows it down. Waits until he’s sure his voice won’t give him away. “I’m okay. You don’t need to stay.”

Tommy makes a hmming noise. “But I just got myself settled. I’m not as young as I used to be, I think I’ll stay for a minute if that’s okay with you.”

He wants to ask why Tommy’s here. Why Tommy came when Hen called. Why he keeps coming when Buck calls, when all Buck ever is is mean to him. Thinks he should tell Tommy he’s not worth it, that whatever Tommy thinks he sees, it’s not real.

Hears Tommy shifting again. There are blankets and pillows in the bedroom. He should tell Tommy to grab some if he’s planning on staying. Floor’s not going to get any softer.

Thinks about asking what he’d have to do to make Tommy want to stay. With him, not just here on this floor. Reminds himself not to make it about him, what he wants.

He doesn’t want any of this. Wants a do-over.

There’s a stretch of silence, then Tommy breaks it. “I watched the new Blue Planet the other day. Or well, I guess it’s not new, but I missed it when it came out, so new to me.”

He appreciates what Tommy’s trying to do. It’s still a little bit -- talk the crazy guy off the ledge, but well, he feels a little bit like he’s balancing on a ledge, so maybe Tommy knows something he doesn’t.

“Proof of life,” Tommy asks him, and oh, yea, didn’t respond. Out loud, anyway. Guesses that’s the only response that really matters.

“Did you like it?” his voice sounds rusty, like it’s been scrapped over the shards of his throat. He wipes his eyes. Doesn’t know when he started crying. Must have been for a while.

“It lacked commentary,” is all Tommy says, which is weird because it has a good narrator, and he-- oh.

“You mean, uh, me?”

It’s an old house, Eddie’s, his, whoever's it is right now. There’s a gap under the door — he watches Tommy’s fingers slide under, like a cat’s paw. He hooks his finger with Tommy’s.

“I mean, you.” Buck lets that settle inside him, feels his lips quirk upward. “Think you’re ready to let me in?”

Could be talking about the bathroom. Could be about something bigger. Either way. “I’ll only hurt you, I’m no good for anyone I love.”

And Tommy’s quiet again for a long time and when he speaks, his voice is funny -- not talk the crazy person down, more like he’s trying to talk around a lump in his throat. “I’m someone you love?”

“Yes,” he says, affronted, before he can stop himself. Because that’s never been up for debate. “But that doesn’t matter, it’s not about me — what I want.”

“It matters a lot to me,” Tommy points out. “And, I think it’s a little bit about what you want.”

Buck puts his other hand on the door, presses until his knuckles whiten. It’s what he wants, but he never gets what he wants.

He can’t believe they’re having this conversation while he’s locked in a bathroom, sitting on cold tiles, staring at the toilet. The lights are harsh, because he never bothered to change them from the cheap fluorescents Eddie put in. They expose every flaw for anyone who can see — God. Bobby. Himself. Maybe Tommy.

“Think you can open the door now?”

He looks down at their fingers, still wrapped around each other. “I’ll have to let go.” Doesn’t want to let go, never did; right now it feels like the only thing tethering him, making him feel safe, wanted.

“Just for a second,” Tommy concedes. “I’ve got you.”

#ficlet #911 #buck/tommy #post 8x17 #interstitials #we're having all the feelings y'all

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ogpenson · 2 days ago

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On a related note: The reason we even need this reminder is the thoroughly capitalist deification of youth. As explained wonderfully by Craig Ferguson on his "Late Late Show" in 2009:

"I figured it out. I. Figured. It. Out. - “What?” - I’ll tell you: Everything. Why everything sucks. Here’s why:

In the 1950s - late 50s, early 60s - a bunch of advertising guys got together in Madison Avenue and decided that what they were trying to do was sell products to younger people. They thought, “we should try and sell products to younger people because then they’ll buy things their whole life.” So they try and sell them soft drinks or bread or cigars or whatever the hell they were selling them. They thought, “we’ll try and appeal to young people.” It was just an advertising thing, they didn’t mean any harm by it, it was just a little bit of market research. So they did that. And they told the television companies and the movie companies and the record companies, and everybody started targeting the youth because the youth was the place where you were gonna be able to sell things.

And what happened was that in a strange kind of quirk of fate youth began to be celebrated by society in a way that it had never been in any time in human history. Because what used to be celebrated was experience and cleverness. But what happened was that… what became valuable was youth, the quality of youth which made you a consumer. So what happened is they started to concentrate on these people.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re saying: “But wait a minute, Craig, in ancient Greece they deified the youth.” No, they didn’t. They deified beauty. Ah, different! Right?

So, what happened is youth became more important, and became more important, and became more important. And society started to turn on its head, because with the deification of youth… Youth has a by-product. The by-product of youth is inexperience. By the nature of having youth you don’t have any experience. You’re too young to have it, it’s not your fault. So you’re young and you’re kind of stupid, so they sell you stuff, right?

So therefore the deification of youth began. But the deification of youth didn’t stop there. The deification of youth kind of evolved and turned into the deification of imbecility. So it became fashionable and desirable to be young and to be stupid! And it started to be a fashion. And that grew, and that grew, and that grew, and that grew, and now that’s what all the kids wanna be. “I just wanna be young and stupid.” But you know what? That’s not what you wanna be. You don’t wanna be that. Don’t be young and stupid.

And then what happened is that people were frightened to not be young. They didn’t want to not be young. They didn’t want to get older so they started dying their hair, they started mutilating their faces and their bodies in order to look young. But you can’t be young forever. That’s against the laws of the universe!

And all of this horrible quirk and this terrible movement… nobody meant it, nobody meant any harm but now we’re in this terrible place where we have the f*cking Jonas Brothers!"

youtube

hi, a lot of you need a perspective reset

the average human lifespan globally is 70+ years

taking the threshold of adulthood as 18, you are likely to spend at least 52 years as a fully grown adult

at the age of 30 you have lived less than one quarter of your adult life (12/52 years)

'middle age' is typically considered to be between 45-65

it is extremely common to switch careers, start new relationships, emigrate, go to college for the first or second time, or make other life-changing decisions in middle age

it's wild that I even have to spell it out, but older adults (60+) still have social lives and hobbies and interests.

you can still date when you get old. you can still fuck. you can still learn new skills, fashionable, be competitive. you can still gossip, you can still travel, you can still read. you can still transition. you can still come out.

young doesn't mean peaked. you're inexperienced in your 20s! you're still learning and practicing! you're developing social skills and muscle memory that will last decades!

there are a million things to do in the world, and they don't vanish overnight because an imaginary number gets too big

#youth #age #time #craig ferguson #the late late show

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rainydaygotham · 2 days ago

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So, You’ve Decided to Put on the Red Hood Helmet: A Guide

You honestly don’t know what you were expecting. This was a stupid idea to begin with, so of course it went very wrong very fast.

You were all dolled up in that lingerie set that he likes. No special occasion, you just wanted to give him a little sexy surprise since he’s been so stressed lately. You’d love to give him the world, but right now all you can afford to give him is yourself, so that’ll have to do.

Now the mistake here was made when you walked out of the bedroom. Sure, the element of surprise would’ve been compromised if he came home and you called for him from the bed. Like, who wouldn’t immediately know that they were about to have some fun from that? He would get too cocky. But letting him walk into the living room just to be met with your near-nude body prepped and ready for him? That would catch Jason off guard and hopefully put a cute little flustered blush on his cheeks.

However, you really should’ve stayed in the bedroom. Because then you wouldn’t have seen the helmet sitting on the kitchen table, out in the open and tempting.

Jason was a real possessive guy. It was one of the things that made him so hot, his jealous devotion. So sue you for seeing his helmet and thinking he’ll love to see you wearing his gear. Just like how he loves it when you wear his shirt to bed or when he drapes his jacket over your shoulders when it’s cold.

You were so caught up in appealing to his possessive side, that you failed to take into consideration a not-even-unrelated side of the Red Hood. Which was definitely a side so prominent you really shouldn’t have missed it. His paranoia.

As soon as you lowered the iconic red helmet onto your head, an electric chime went off like it was a washing machine or something. You had no idea what that was about but you quickly forgot about it.

This thing smelled like a combination of Jason’s breath and his shampoo. You inhaled deeply in reverence. You missed him too much, despite it only being a workday since you’d last saw him.

It was weirdly heavy? You don’t know why you’d never considered that this piece of tech would be any heavier than a motorcycle helmet, but it made sense. You were looking at the world through a kind of UI at the moment.

You went and found the mirror to check yourself out. Feeling silly, you flexed your muscles in various poses pretending to be Jason. Gotta hand it to you, you made this helmet look pretty cute. Although wearing nothing but lingerie with it was bringing it into slutty halloween costume territory. ‘Sexy Red Mask Costume’, the package would say. See, no copyright infringement there.

Well, that’s enough for now, you thought. You should start on dinner and get it in the oven so it’ll be done by the time he’s finished fucking your brains out. You reached for the helmet to start pulling it off—

*BZZT*

IT FUCKING ZAPPED YOU.

You dropped it immediately, not giving it a chance to pick up the wattage from annoying warning shock to full on electrocuting you. Shit.

Shit, shit, shit. You forgot he and every other bat has a high tech suit that punishes people who try to take them off. Can’t have those precious identity revealed, can we?

You tried searching your brain for any information on how to deactivate Jason’s security measures but were drawing a blank. Whenever he took it off he just reached up and took it off, no fanfare. What was the secret???

Well. Looks like Sexy Red Mask is cooking dinner tonight. Better get that apron…

When Jason came home, he was completely prepared to get his bones jumped the minute he walked through the door. Sorry, but you weren’t subtle with your little ‘i miss you. when are you getting home?’ texts.

You were a horny little bitch, but you were his horny little bitch and you were so good to him that you’d never catch him complaining. He never thought he’d have someone, let alone someone so desiring of him. Your love was a relief.

So yeah, he was expecting the ‘sexy surprise’. Sorry baby but you’re not slick.

What he was not expecting, however, was a slutty pinup of his vigilante identity to be pouting on the couch.

His eyes took in your form. Man, he loved you. Even if your seduction technique needed work. He chuckled as he started shrugging off his leather jacket, and you turned to him,

“Welcome home!” you chirped your greeting, and then carefully tapped the helmet, which he found adorable, “can you please get this off of me? When I put it on, it locked, and now I can’t take it off without being tased.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, and you gotta give Jason credit, he was trying his best not to full on laugh, “it’ll do that,”

“Just help me, please. It’s really heavy,” you whined.

“Well..” he raked his eyes over your body once again, “would you be willing to wear it just a teensy bit longer?”

Seeing you in his helmet was making him feel some type of way.

You sighed, but no yeah, that’s why you put it on in the first place, wasn’t it? Damn you for knowing your boyfriend.

You crossed your arms, feigning annoyance, “I suppose you can fuck me in it first, yeah,” you giggled.

“Beautiful,” he purred as he started lazily undoing his belt, “You’re beautiful.”

#maybe a full version later #jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #red hood x reader #red hood smut #red hood x you #jason todd x you #dc x reader

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gf2bellamy · 2 days ago

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Hello!!! First I wanted to say I absolutely adoreeee your fics I literally read them like bedtime stories honestly😭🙏

I also wanted to request perhaps reader and spencer at jj's wedding (reader also being a part of the bau) and they've both been best friends for years. They dance together and as it's getting late, spencer offers reader to stay at his place for the night because it's closer. Then they go back to his apartment and nervously end up admitting feelings for eachother!!! Like it comes up in conversation while they're just hanging out and watching TV or whatnot and maybe they also get super emotional and teary because of how much they both mean to eachother. Hope this is coherent enough or not too elaborate 😭 thank you so much anyhow though - you are a brilliant writer!

wedding — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader wears a dress , lots of dancing , mention of a case a/n: hi hi ! i hope you like this <3 i loved writing this

“You know you’re staring, right?”

Penelope Garcia’s voice snapped you out of your trance. She nudged your shoulder with hers, her dress catching the light as she tilted her head toward you.

You blinked, pulled from your thoughts as your gaze reluctantly drifted away from where Spencer stood beneath the garden lights.

He was crouched down, completely absorbed in showing Henry a card trick, his voice soft. The child’s eyes were wide with wonder.

Yours weren’t much different.

You were at JJ's wedding, waiting out in the garden while the she got ready. The evening air was cool but pleasant, and strings of fairy lights twinkled like stars overhead.

“What?” you asked, trying to sound casual, though your tone betrayed you.

Garcia turned to face you fully, her expression smug in the most Garcia way possible.

“You.” She pointed a finger at you . “Were staring.” Then she swiveled her finger dramatically toward Spencer. “At Dr. Adorable over there.”

Your face warmed, and you blinked at her, still half-lost in the haze of watching Spencer—the way his hair fell just slightly into his eyes when he leaned forward, the joy in his expression as he entertained Henry.

Your mouth opened to protest, but no words came out. You glanced back toward Spencer before you could stop yourself—he was laughing now, Henry giggling with him, and the sight made your heart twist in the gentlest way.

Garcia raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the flustered look on your face. “I mean, if you're gonna pine, at least do it with a little less intensity. People are gonna start thinking you're plotting his murder or planning your wedding. There is no in-between with that look.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Stop,” you said weakly, pointing a finger at her in mock warning.

“Mhmm,” she hummed, the grin never leaving her face as she slowly backed away. “I’ll leave you to your lovesick sighing. But just so you know, you’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are.”

You watched her disappear into the reception with a sigh, your eyes inevitably drawn back to Spencer. His head tilted up slightly, and for a moment, it almost felt like he was about to look right at you. You froze. But instead, he ruffled Henry’s hair and stood up with that soft smile still lingering on his lips.

Some time later, you were standing quietly beside Garcia, watching as JJ's mother walked her down the aisle.

The moment was beautiful—soft music playing, petals lining the path, the kind of memory that felt like it would live in everyone’s mind forever.

You glanced across the aisle.

Spencer was standing directly opposite you, looking striking in his dark suit. His hair was just slightly tousled in that effortlessly handsome way he never seemed to realize he had.

You tried not to stare—but that resolve didn’t last long. Your eyes kept finding their way back to him.

What you didn’t know was that he was doing the exact same thing.

It turned into a quiet game of glances and near-catches. Every time you looked over, he had just looked away. Every time his eyes landed on you, yours had already shifted elsewhere.

A dance of almosts.

Later, as the reception began and you found your seat at one of the round tables lit with candles and scattered rose petals, you found yourself sitting between Emily and Rossi. The chair across from you remained empty for only a moment—until Spencer took it, still sneaking those glances when he thought you weren’t looking.

Rossi stood, glass in hand, and the room hushed as he began his toast. His voice was warm and full of love, weaving a beautiful speech to JJ and Will.

While the rest of the room listened with full attention, Spencer found himself watching you instead.

You were smiling—softly, sincerely—as you listened to Rossi speak, and it knocked the air right out of him. Your dress, elegant but simple, shimmered slightly in the candlelight.

He’d nearly lost his footing when he saw you walk in earlier. Morgan had caught him gaping and slapped his shoulder with a laugh, saying, “Try to be subtle, pretty boy,” before shooting a look to Garcia. She, in turn, had already noticed the exact same look on your face when Spencer entered the venue.

“Cheers!” Rossi’s voice rang out, snapping Spencer back to the moment.

Everyone raised their glasses, laughter and the clinking of glass echoing softly around the room. You tapped your glass gently against Emily’s and then Rossi’s, then your eyes found Spencer’s—finally, directly.

You held his gaze and raised your glass slightly toward him. The gesture was small but intimate. Intentional.

He blinked, as if surprised you were really looking at him this time, and then he smiled—soft, warm, and a little shy. He raised his glass in return, eyes never leaving yours.

About twenty minutes later, the music softened, and couples slowly began to gather on the dance floor.

You laughed, breathless, as Morgan suddenly took your hand and pulled you onto the dance floor with dramatic flair.

“Morgan!” you protested through your giggles, but he just grinned, spinning you lightly before placing one hand at your waist and the other in yours.

“Come on, don’t pretend you’re not having fun,” he teased as the two of you began to sway to the rhythm.

You rolled your eyes fondly, your smile not faltering for a second. The two of you moved easily together, playful, but Morgan’s attention wasn’t entirely on the dance. He glanced over your shoulder, eyes locking with Spencer’s across the room.

Spencer stood by the edge of the dance floor, fidgeting with the cuff of his suit jacket. He hadn’t stopped watching you all night. You looked radiant—happy, glowing. And that look on your face... he wanted so badly to be the one putting it there.

But nerves had kept him frozen.

You and Spencer had been best friends for years. Through tough cases, long nights, and vulnerable confessions whispered in quiet hotel rooms, you’d been there.

Always. And yet tonight, seeing you in that dress, with your hair framing your face just so, had knocked him completely off balance.

Morgan had noticed, of course.

Before dragging you to the dance floor, he’d spent the last ten minutes nudging Spencer with not-so-subtle comments, even outright pushing him toward the dance floor once. “You’re really gonna let me dance with her all night when you’re clearly dying to?”

Spencer had brushed him off, flustered and full of excuses—until now.

Morgan raised an eyebrow meaningfully as he danced with you, silently daring Spencer to make a move.

Spencer swallowed hard, his eyes locked with Morgan’s. Then they slid to you. You were smiling, your cheeks flushed with laughter, your hand resting lightly on Morgan’s shoulder.

That was it.

He bit his lip, straightened his jacket, and finally—finally—stepped forward.

As Morgan saw him approaching, he leaned in and whispered to you, “Looks like my job here is done.”

You gave him a puzzled look just as the song transitioned into a slower, sweeter melody.

And then Morgan stepped back.

You turned—and there he was. Spencer. Hands slightly fidgety, but eyes soft and full of something that made your breath catch.

“May I?” he asked, his voice a little quiet, a little shy.

You smiled, your heart skipping a beat. “Took you long enough.”

You slipped your hand into his, and as he pulled you gently into the dance, everything else seemed to fade away.

You were nervous—your heart beating a little faster than it should—but when your eyes met his, something in you relaxed. You smiled, even brighter than before.

“The wedding is beautiful,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper as you glanced over at JJ and Will, dancing just a few feet away, completely wrapped up in each other.

“It really is,” Spencer replied, his gaze drifting to the newlyweds for a moment before returning to you. His hand at your waist tightened ever so slightly. “She looks really happy.”

You nodded, your smile turning softer, more thoughtful. “She does.”

Neither of you noticed the way the rest of the team was sneaking glances your way—Emily nudging Garcia with a knowing smirk, Morgan grinning to himself, Hotch watching with quiet approval. Even JJ, in the middle of her own dance, looked over and caught the moment, her expression glowing with fondness.

Spencer smiled, eyes half-lidded as he took a steadying breath, his lips just inches from your temple now. The scent of your perfume was soft and familiar, and he could feel your warmth as you instinctively scooted just a little closer.

That tiny movement sent a ripple through him.

You were here—in his arms.

“You didn’t tell me you were such a great dancer,” you said with a teasing lilt, leaning back just enough to look up at him, your brows raised playfully.

Spencer glanced down at you, and for a second, you saw the faintest flicker of smugness in his expression—but it vanished quickly, replaced with that familiar bashful smile. His eyes darted away as if the compliment had short-circuited his brain.

“Didn’t know that myself,” he admitted, chuckling softly. “Pretty sure I’m only doing okay because you’re leading.”

You grinned, heart fluttering. “Guess we make a good team, then.”

At that, his eyes met yours again—and this time, they stayed. Warm, searching, a little bit braver than before.

“I always thought we did,” he said softly.

The honesty in his voice made your chest tighten in the best way. You swallowed, your heart thudding just a little louder as your fingers gently brushed the hair at the nape of his neck.

You felt him shiver slightly under your touch.

Without thinking, you scooted closer again, closing what little space remained between you. His hand tightened slightly at your waist in response—subtle, but unmistakable.

Neither of you said anything more for the rest of the dance.

Eventually, the song faded into another. And though you didn’t want it to end, you both stepped back—reluctantly—hands falling away slower than necessary, eyes lingering.

The rest of the evening carried on like a dream.

Over the next hour, you ended up being passed around the dance floor like the unofficial guest of honor. Morgan was the first to swoop in again, spinning you dramatically as you laughed. Then came Rossi, smooth as ever, insisting it was tradition to dance with the most radiant woman at the wedding. Even Hotch surprised you with a short, polite dance.

Each one of them had something to say.

“So... you and Reid, huh?” Morgan grinned, eyebrow raised.

“You two looked like a scene straight out of a Nora Ephron movie,” Emily teased as she dipped you mid-dance, clearly enjoying herself.

“I’d say it’s about time,” Rossi murmured with a smirk, before twirling you gently. “We were starting to think we’d have to lock you both in a room until someone confessed.”

Garcia all but squealed when she finally stole you away for a spin. “Okay, do not lie to me. Was that the moment? Because I swear, there were literal stars in the air.”

You laughed so hard your cheeks hurt. It was all good-natured, wrapped in love and genuine happiness for you. But through every dance, every tease, your eyes kept finding Spencer across the room.

And every time, he was already looking at you.

By the end of the night, you found yourself lingering near the exit, wrapped in the warmth of a goodbye hug with JJ. You’d already said “Congratulations” at least ten times, and you still felt like it wasn’t enough.

“I’m just so happy for you guys,” you said again, your voice full of sincerity as you held her tight.

JJ smiled against your shoulder. “Thank you. I mean it. And… I saw the dance,” she added teasingly, pulling back with a knowing look in her eyes.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Spencer appeared beside you just in time, offering his own congratulations to JJ and Will with that soft, sweet tone. You couldn’t help but glance at him, your heart tugging a little tighter in your chest.

Once you stepped outside, the night air was cooler as you stood in the parking lot, scanning the rows of cars.

“I was supposed to go with Garcia,” you said, eyes narrowing as you spotted her leaning against Morgan’s car, deep in conversation. She was laughing and wiping what looked like the remnants of happy tears from her cheeks while Morgan nodded along.

You sighed, a half-smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, this is going to take ages.”

Spencer followed your gaze, and before he could stop himself—before his brain had even caught up with his mouth—he blurted, “You can stay at my place.”

You turned your head to look at him, brows raised, mildly surprised—but not in a bad way. You studied him, the way his eyes flicked nervously to yours, his hands suddenly unsure of what to do.

“If it’s no bother,” you said after a second, your voice quiet, cautious.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, then smiled softly. “Wouldn’t have asked if it was.”

“Okay,” you said, the single word sounding warmer than it should’ve, like you’d just agreed to something far bigger than a ride or a place to sleep.

He led you toward his car, once you said goodbye to Garcia.

When he opened the passenger door for you, you chuckled under your breath and murmured, “Thanks,” as you carefully lifted your dress to settle into the seat.

He closed the door gently, walked around to his side, and slid into the driver’s seat.

As the car pulled out of the lot , you glanced at him. “Please tell me you finally organized your books.”

Spencer’s fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel, a small, guilty smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You raised an eyebrow. “Spencer…”

The last time you’d been at his place—two weeks ago, for a movie night that never quite turned into watching the movie—you had spent half the time side-eyeing the precarious towers of books that had taken over the corners of his living room. Some were stacked by topic, others by spine color, some in what he’d dramatically called “priority order,” whatever that meant.

It had visually hurt you to look at.

You’d tried to ignore it, truly, curling up on his couch with a bowl of popcorn while he enthusiastically explained the plot of the old sci-fi movie you were watching. But eventually, your resolve had crumbled. You’d stood up mid-movie and started reorganizing by author name before he practically dragged you back to the couch.

“They have a purpose there!” he’d insisted back then, exasperated but laughing.

Now, as he turned the steering wheel with that exact same half-smile, he stayed silent just a little too long.

“Oh no. Spencer,” you dragged out his name dramatically, narrowing your eyes.

“What?” he asked, biting back a laugh.

“You didn’t organize them, did you?”

“I thought about it,” he offered carefully, glancing sideways at you.

You let your head fall back against the seat with a groan. “You had days.”

“I made peace with the system,” he said defensively, but his eyes were sparkling. “Besides… you seemed so passionate about it last time, I figured I’d leave it. Just in case you wanted to come back and finish the job.”

You turned to him slowly, giving him the most unimpressed look you could muster. “So this is your evil plan. Lure me in with tea and nerdy trivia and force me to organize your chaos.”

“It’s not chaos,” he replied, almost too quickly. “It’s a carefully designed non-linear categorization system.”

“That sounds like chaos with extra steps.”

Spencer chuckled softly, shaking his head as he turned onto his street. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Not when it comes to books stacked in a way that defies gravity, no.”

As Spencer pulled into his usual spot and parked the car, he was already unbuckling before you’d even touched the door handle. You opened your mouth to protest, but sure enough, he was already walking around to your side.

“Spencer,” you said, exasperated but smiling. “I do know how to get out of a car.”

He shrugged, a small grin tugging at his lips as he offered his hand to you anyway. “I know. But I like helping.”

You rolled your eyes playfully but took his hand. His fingers wrapped around yours—soft, warm.

The two of you walked up to his apartment, still chitchatting, your voices quiet as you relived little moments from the wedding—the way Rossi had gotten uncharacteristically sentimental in his toast, Garcia’s happy tears, how Morgan tried to dip everyone he danced with, including Strauss.

Spencer took your jacket like he always did, carefully hanging it near the door. You smiled to yourself, slipping out of your heels and placing them neatly beside his.

You remembered the first time you’d noticed it—how, without ever saying a word, he’d straighten your shoes after you entered his apartment. It was such a small thing, but it stuck with you. You never forgot it. Since then, you just… did it yourself. Because you knew he appreciated it, even if he never asked.

“I can’t feel my feet,” you mumbled, flexing your toes as you stepped onto the soft rug.

“I mean, you did dance with almost everyone,” Spencer said, heading toward the living room.

You followed him, chuckling under your breath. “Yeah. You’re right.”

The two of you dropped onto the couch like you’d been holding yourselves up all night. You let out a breath as you pulled your legs up, curling them under you, relieved to not be standing anymore. The soft cushions beneath you felt like heaven after a long night in heels.

A comfortable silence settled between you.

You yawned quietly, blinking slow, then tilted your head toward him. He was sitting on the other end of the couch, bow loosened, jacket gone, his posture a little slouched now that he could finally relax.

“But you know?” you murmured.

He turned his head to you, eyes soft in the low light of the room.

“You were my favorite dance partner,” you said, a sleepy smile curling at your lips.

He blinked, and for a second, you swore he forgot how to breathe. His mouth parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to say it. Instead, he just… smiled. That quiet, lopsided smile that he only ever gave you.

“I’m glad,” he said after a moment. “You were mine too.”

You let your head lean back against the cushion, the warmth of his words lingering in your chest. And for a few minutes, you just sat like that.

That’s when the books suddenly sprang back into your mind.

Spencer had his eyes closed, head tilted slightly against the couch cushion, looking far too peaceful for someone with three towers of books leaning at precarious angles in his living room. You shifted just slightly, straightening up with purpose.

Without opening his eyes, Spencer spoke, his voice low and drowsy. “Do it tomorrow.”

You paused, caught red-handed by someone who hadn’t even been looking at you.

“I didn’t even say anything yet,” you said with a small laugh.

“You didn’t have to. I could feel your brain making a plan.”

You turned your head toward him, raising an eyebrow. “So… you’re officially letting me do it?”

He peeked one eye open to meet your gaze, then gave you a small, resigned smile. “Sure.”

You grinned, and Spencer swore—for just a second—that if he could see you smile like that one more time, he’d even let you organize his meticulously alphabetized first-edition classics in any way you wanted. And that was saying something.

There was a brief silence.

You stared at each other for a moment—too long, probably—but neither of you looked away.

Then his eyes flicked downward, catching on the folds of your dress. And before he could think better of it, before his brain could slow his mouth down, he spoke.

“You looked beautiful tonight.”

The words fell out like a confession.

His eyes went wide the moment he realized he’d said them, and color shot up his neck so fast a cheetah would've had a hard time catching it.

You blinked, startled—but the surprise quickly melted into something softer. Warmer.

“Thank you, Spencer,” you said, smiling at him in that slow, full way that made his heart feel like it was folding in on itself. “You didn’t look so bad yourself.”

He let out a small, nervous laugh, his fingers fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve. “I, uh… tried. Morgan said I clean up okay.”

“Well, Morgan’s right,” you said, tilting your head slightly, still watching him with that smile that made it hard for Spencer to remember what breathing was supposed to feel like.

Spencer smiled softly at the compliment, his fingers still absently tracing the edge of his sleeve.

“You know,” he began, voice low, almost hesitant, “I spent most of the night trying to figure out how to ask you to dance.”

The admission slipped out before he could stop it, and his eyes flickered up to yours, wide with surprise at his own honesty.

You blinked, your breath catching just a little. “You didn’t have to figure it out,” you murmured, leaning ever so slightly closer. “You could’ve just asked.”

“I wanted it to be perfect.” He laughed, a quiet, self-conscious sound. “Which is ridiculous, because it’s me. Perfect isn’t really in my skill set.”

“Spencer.” You reached out without thinking, your fingers brushing against his wrist, stilling his fidgeting. “It was perfect.”

His pulse jumped under your touch.

For a moment, he just stared at you, lips parted, as if he was trying to memorize the way you looked right then—soft and glowing in the dim light of his apartment, your dress rumpled from dancing, your smile so fond it made his chest ache.

Then, in a rush of breath, the words tumbled out:

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Silence.

His brain screeched to a halt. Oh god. Oh no. That wasn’t—he hadn’t meant to say it like that. Not here, not now, not—

But you weren’t pulling away. You weren’t even breathing.

Your fingers tightened around his wrist, just barely, and your voice came out whisper-soft. “You… think?”

Spencer swallowed hard. There was no taking it back now.

“No,” he corrected, voice rough. “I know. I’ve known for a while.”

The confession hung between you, fragile and terrifying and real.

"You have?" you asked, practically breathless.

Spencer looked at you before his gaze dropped to his hands, suddenly nervous. His fingers twitched against yours like he wanted to pull away but couldn't bring himself to break contact.

"Yeah," he whispered. Then, with a shaky exhale: "It was... it was that night after the Harris case. When you stayed."

Your breath hitched. You remembered.

Three months ago. Spencer's apartment, 2 AM. Both of you still in crinkled shirts, too wired to sleep. You'd made terrible coffee in his tiny kitchen, hands trembling around the mugs, and when you'd finally sat beside him on the couch—when he'd started talking about the case in that broken voice—you hadn't thought. You'd just reached for him. Held him while his shoulders shook. And when he'd finally gone still, forehead pressed against your collarbone, neither of you had moved for hours.

"You let me fall apart," Spencer continued, voice cracking. "And then you put me back together like it was nothing."

Tears pricked at your eyes. "Spencer—"

"And before that," he rushed on, "when you memorized my coffee order after one try. Even when you keep trying to rearrange my books. When you defended my 'weird facts' to Morgan. When you—" His laugh was wet, uneven. "When you started leaving your favorite books annotated on my desk so I'd have to read them. As if I wouldn't have read anything you handed me."

A tear slipped down your cheek. You didn't wipe it away.

"You noticed that?"

"I notice everything about you." His thumb brushed your knuckles, feather-light. "The way you hum when you're concentrating. How you always steal my pens but never the blue ones because you know I prefer those. That little frown you get when—"

You kissed him.

It wasn't graceful. Your nose bumped his, your lashes still wet, your hands clutching his shirt like you were afraid he might disappear. He made a soft, broken noise against your lips when his fingers curled into your hair. His thumbs brushed the corners of your mouth as he kissed you back.

You pulled back just enough to whisper, "I love you too."

Spencer's breath shuddered out. He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes squeezed shut like he was trying not to cry. "Say it again?"

You laughed through your tears. "I love you, Spencer Reid. Every brilliant, ridiculous, beautiful part of you."

His arms wrapped around you, tight enough to bruise, and when he buried his face in your neck, you felt the damp warmth of his tears against your skin.

"Took you long enough," you teased weakly, running your fingers through his hair.

He huffed a laugh against your shoulder. "Says the woman who reorganized my bookshelves instead of just telling me."

"That was a declaration and you know it."

Spencer pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes red-rimmed but brighter than you'd ever seen them. "Well," he murmured, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb, "this is better."

And when he kissed you this time, there were no almosts. No maybes.

Just this—his hands in your hair, your laughter against his lips, and a lifetime of quiet, perfect moments waiting to unfold.

#criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x you #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic

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helen-with-an-a · 2 days ago

Text

Nerves pt 2

Hiiii, so here is pt 2 of Nerves that came out last week.

Part 1 : Part 2

Ingrid Engen x Reader

Description: It's R's first time

Word Count: 5.7k

TW: Smut, 18+, cunnilingus (R receiving)

Ingrid felt like she was going to have a heart attack. Well, that may be a slight exaggeration, but she definitely felt her heart hammering away against her chest, threatening to burst. She had never done this before. You had come to her a few weeks ago, all innocent eyes and soft smiles and whispered in the most adorable way that you were ready to go further. To go further than just a steamy make out session on the sofa. Why was she so terrified? She had had sex. Lots of sex. She was good at sex. But something about being your first. She told you she didn’t care about it being your first time, and that was true, she honestly didn’t. But it was just the fact it was you. She might have had sex before, but she had never had sex with you. And she was terrified.

She was glad you both still had your separate flats. No matter how much she loved waking up with you resting on her chest, or seeing you wearing one of her shirts as you cooked up a storm, or driving to training with you, one hand perched on your thigh, she was glad that she was able to kiss you goodbye so you could both get ready for your date in private.

Ingrid felt more nervous than your actual first date. She had spent over an hour in the bathroom, shaving, waxing, plucking every unwanted hair. She had used not one, not two, but three different body washes, two hair masks and a body scrub. She had busted out her old blow dryer and spent far too long with her head flipped and her arms hurting as she waited for the mass of dark hair to be dry. Ingrid had agonised over her outfit, stressed over the neatness of the flat and fussed over her makeup.

Little did she know that you were just as nervous. What did you wear? Should you shave? What about lotion? Did you pack an overnight back? Would she be expecting some fancy lingerie? Would she be wearing some fancy lingerie? How would it work? You were only going to hers, not some fancy restaurant or anything. Both of you, in her flat, having a meal … and then … other things.

God, you couldn’t even say it. Sex, it was only sex. People have sex all the time. But you weren’t people. You were you. And Ingrid was Ingrid. And you were going to be having sex. Together. You were going to have sex with Ingrid. You blushed at the thought.

You had seen her in a bikini before. Her long legs and pale skin, water trickling down her chest as she climbed back on board … you swallowed at the memory.

Before you knew it, it was 7 pm and you were walking up the stairs to her flat. You had done this walk countless of times, even before you started dating. 10 steps from the parking space, 13 across the welcome area, 27 steps up the stairs, 14 down the corridor. It was all familiar, all a part of your routine. Butterflies stirred in your tummy.

“Hei, kjære.” Ingrid’s voice was smooth as honey. You looked up, staring straight at the beautiful green of her eyes.

“H-hi,” you whispered, a blush rising to your cheeks.

Settling into the sofa felt normal. And it felt odd, that it was normal. Everyone had made this big thing about losing your virginity. Yes, alright, you were really nervous about it, but more so because it was the first time anyone would see you in that way. You had no doubt that Ingrid would be soft and sweet. That she would guide you and do exactly what you wanted. That she would …

“I was thinking we order food?” Ingrid smiled, relaxing next to you.

“S-sounds good.” You hated that your voice was so quiet. God, this was just a date. A totally normal date. You had had dates before. Had dates that never led to sex. This was your girlfriend for fuck’s sake.

“So what-”

“What are you want-” You both said at the same time, breaking off into giggles.

“What do you want to order?” You asked, leaning into her side.

“Sushi?”

“No,” you whined. “We had that like, two days ago.” Ingrid smiled at you, a love-sick expression on her face.

“Ok, Thai?” She suggested, knowing that the Thai place down the road was your go-to place, claiming that it refused to do deliveries for your flat so you just had to come to hers to eat it.

“Ooh, yeah. Can we get the spring rolls too, and the curry. And what was that thing Olga said we had to get? The skewer things?”

10 minutes later and the order had been placed, the idea of a quiet night with Thai food and Ingrid sounded fantastic. “Sorry, kjære. They said it’ll be like two hours before it gets here.” Ingrid winced, slumping back against the sofa.

“That’s ok. We’ve got a movie. And it’s not like I don’t wanna talk to you.” You teased, staring up at her.

“Oh, really? I’m important enough to talk to, am I?” She smirked down at you, her eyes flicking between your and your lips.

“Uh huh. Incredibly important.” You kept up the teasing tone, but the words could not have been more true. She sighed happily, pushing you down to lie back against the arm as she settled on your chest.

You stayed like that for maybe twenty minutes. Twenty long agonising minutes where you kept flitting your eyes down to look at her. She looked comfortable, cozy even, yet perfectly dressed all at the same time. Soft trousers made from some stretchy fabric that just exuded quiet elegance and a plain top that screamed sophistication. God, why was she with you? Out of everyone on the planet, she had chosen you? You knew you weren’t ugly, not by any means. You were a professional footballer on the top of your game. You knew you looked good, but it was more the undertones that Ingrid gave that set you worlds apart. She was elegant and gentle and wonderful and had this confidence about her that, even when lying here, curled up on your chest, gave her a glow the radiated from within. You had none of that. You were just an anxious girl. Shy, awkward, timid girl who had somehow managed to catch the attention of the most perfect person in the world.

You felt Ingrid’s lips move against your neck, placing a few careful kisses, testing the waters. “Stop,” Ingrid whined gently.

“Huh?” You struggled to look down at her, torn between your inner monologue berating you and the feel of her lips against your skin.

“I can hear your brain working overtime from here, stop it.” She pulled back to stare into your eyes.

“I-I didn’t mean,” you stammered, a blush rising to your cheeks.

“Hey, it’s ok. I know you, your mind is running a thousand miles an hour, you’re overthinking everything. And that’s ok. We don’t have to do anything. Not tonight, not ever if you don’t want to. It’s just me and you.” She pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“I’m just nervous,” you breathed.

“So am I.” The confession was a hushed whisper, so quiet you barely heard it.

“Y-you’re? You’re nervous?” You blinked, what could she possibly be nervous about?

“Of course, I am. We might have sex tonight.” She rolled her eyes.

“But you’ve had sex before.” You looked at her, confused.

“Yeh, but I’ve never had sex with you. It’s new for both of us. This is our first time. I know what I like, but I don’t know what you do. I don’t know if I’ll live up to your expectations, y’know.” Ingrid looked down shyly. Your heart swelled, a small smile dancing on your lips.

“Oh,” you paused. “Well, I know I like kissing you,” you stated matter-of-factly. She let out a melodical laugh. “What?” You couldn’t help but join in.

“I like kissing you too.” She said, emphasising her point by planting a swift peck on your lips.

“Why don’t we start there?” You suggested, eyes wide.

“That sounds like a fantastic place to start,” she whispered, leaning in and giving you a slow kiss. The first touch of her lips against yours was everything – so soft they felt like silk. Her lips moved against yours with an aching tenderness, igniting a charge that left you dizzy. Her teeth grazed your lower lip, sending a thrill through you, and you leaned in closer, unable to hold yourself back. You could feel her smile against your mouth, the way her body pressed against yours.

You weren’t quite sure how long you made out on the sofa … long enough to feel like teenagers, making out on their parents couch when they finally had the place to themselves. “Do you want to go to the bedroom?” Ingrid whispered against your lips, breathing shallow.

“Can we stay here?” You asked, confused as to why the couch wasn’t a perfectly good space.

“I mean, we can. It’s just more space on the bed. We can spread out a bit, and there’s not a giant window.” She jerked her head back towards the large window where the light from the street below was streaming into the living room.

“Oh, yeah.” You blushed, feeling embarrassed.

“But, I am totally down for a quickie on the couch, whenever you want it. Or in the kitchen, or the bathroom, or the shower, or the changing rooms, or the cupboard next to the medical room that no one uses.” You let out a laugh, arching into her at the thought of all the places she wanted to have sex.

“Let’s just conquer the bedroom first?” You suggested, smiling up at her.

Ingrid paused, her eyes blinking slowly as she looked down at you. “You are so beautiful, especially when you laugh.” You felt your cheeks warm.

Ingrid’s bed was wide and welcoming, her soft scent enveloping you as you settled against the pillows. She kissed you softly again, her lips like velvet as they moved against yours. You felt her hands move up your body, her nails scratching against your stomach. “Is … is this ok?” she asked timidly.

“More than,” you breathed, arching as her hand reached your bra. She squeezed gently, smiling into another kiss.

Kissing Ingrid was magical, when her lips were against yours, the voices in your head quietened, leaving only happiness running through your veins. You let your hand tangle in her hair. She moaned gently as you tugged at her roots, your legs looping around her waist. With a soft sigh, you shifted your hips against hers, testing the waters, moving in a way that felt natural, instinctive. The movement brought a warmth to your cheeks and made your breath hitch, and from the soft gasp that left Ingrid’s lips, you could tell she felt it too.

“Please, Ingrid,” you whined, the words slipping out in a soft, desperate tone when it became clear she wasn’t letting you set the pace. She was holding back, making you ask, making you wait – and it was driving you crazy.

“Please, what, kjære?” she teased, her lips brushing close enough that you could feel her warm breath against your skin, her hand squeezing your breast again.

“Please,” you whimpered again. You captured her lips again in a kiss, soft and insistent, hoping it would convey the plea that words couldn’t seem to express.

“Please, what?” Her voice was maddeningly patient, eyes warm and soft as they met yours, but there was a glint in her gaze – a playful edge that hinted at just how much she was enjoying this, watching you unravel.

“Ingrid, baby,” you murmured, your voice trembling, nearly breathless, “I’m begging you here…”

She arched a brow, her lips quirking up in a teasing smirk. “Kjære, if this is you begging,” she said, her voice a low purr, “we’ll have to work on that.” The flush that crept over your cheeks only seemed to amuse her further.

“Please…” you whimpered again, voice barely a whisper. You could see the exact moment her resolve softened, her eyes gentle as she took in your expression.

With a sigh, she rolled her eyes affectionately and cupped your face in her hands, her thumb tracing soft circles over your cheek.

“Say the words, kjæreste,” she murmured. “Say it, and it’s yours.”

“Ingrid…” Your heart was racing, a frantic drumbeat against your ribs, your breath catching as you tried to form the words. “I want you … I need you. Please, make me yours.” You shocked yourself. You had never imagined that you would be able to say anything in the bedroom, let alone something so … well it wasn’t exactly dirty talk but it was definitely more than you were expecting.

“Good girl,” Ingrid smirked, kissing you again. Warmth flooded your body, you hips lifting against hers.

“How do we… how do we do this?” you asked, he nerves creeping back in despite how much you wanted this.

“Well … have … have you ever touched yourself?” Ingrid questioned, her voice gently. You swallowed, feeling warmth rise in your cheeks as you nodded.

“I’m not that much of a prude,” you replied, trying to hide the flush with a little humour, though it came out more vulnerable than you’d intended.

She chuckled softly, her fingers tracing a soothing pattern along your ribs. “I didn’t mean it like that, kjære,” she murmured, her tone gentle. “I meant… do you know what you like? Or what you don’t like?” Her lips brushed the shell of your ear, sending another thrill down your spine, and you felt your fingers unconsciously fidget with the fabric of her top, holding onto it like a lifeline.

“Oh.” You felt your blush deepen as you realised what she was asking. “Yes,” you whispered, finding her gaze with an honesty that felt liberating.

“And what do you like?” she asked, her voice low and velvety

Your voice faltered for a moment, but you pushed past the nerves. “I… I have a vibrator,” you admitted, words a shy murmur. “I like that.”

She hummed in approval, her hand continuing its gentle exploration across your body

“What about… inside?” she asked, her question as natural as if you were talking about a favourite movie.

You bit your lip, giving a small shake of your head. “I’ve tried… but I couldn’t get the angle right. It felt… weird.” You watched her nod and felt her press a kiss to your cheek.

“W-what about you?” you managed, your eyes tracing the curve of her cheek, her jaw, marvelling at how beautiful she was from so close.

“Don’t worry about me, kjære,” she replied softly, her gaze tender. “Tonight is all about you.” She leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that made your heart stutter.

As the kiss broke, you couldn’t help but murmur, “I still want to know…”

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips “Well, I definitely prefer being on top… or at least in charge.” A smirk danced across her face, her eyes flickering with heat as she held your gaze. “And I’ve definitely pictured you beneath me,” she added, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek, her lips lingering as another blush rose on your skin. “But for me, I like more attention on my clit… penetration alone doesn’t really do it.” Her words were so matter of fact, yet her eyes softened as she watched you take them in.

“But,” she murmured, her voice gentle again, “we can explore that another night.” Her thumb brushed your cheek as she spoke, her expression filled with a love that took your breath away. “Tonight, I want you… in every way you’ll let me.” The heat in her voice sent a rush through you, your breath catching, and you felt yourself grow wetter, the ache of wanting her growing with every word, every touch.

“O-okay.”

“Good girl,” Ingrid smirked, pressing a kiss to your cheek. Your hips bucked involuntarily.

“If … if it’s alright with you.” She took another steadying breath. “Ireallywanttotasteyou … please.” You blinked, her words coming out so fast you missed it.

“Huh?” You laughed at yourself, the bluntness of your confusion breaking through the heated moment. Your laughter mixed with Ingrid’s, her head flopping down against your shoulder as she buried her head in embarrassment.

“Ask me again? I missed it. Slowly, this time,” you smiled, hand brushing her hair out of her face. She blushed heavily, but her eyes remained light and smiling.

“I really want to taste you.” She whispered.

“Louder,” you cocked your ear towards her.

“You are mean, kjære.” Ingrid raised her eyebrows. “I’ll get you back for this.” She teased, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Not … not tonight, though, right?” You double checked. You quite liked the idea of Ingrid maybe punishing you for something … but that was a bridge to be crossed at a later date.

“No, baby. Not tonight.” She reassured you. “Tonight, I want to taste you, if that’s ok with you, of course.”

“Good,” she said, her tone low and sultry, and she wasted no time. Her lips pressed a trail of soft kisses along your body, each touch igniting a fire within you. The world around you faded away, and all you could focus on was her – her warmth as she moved along your body, her touch as she shed both your and her clothes. As she moved, her hands slid along your sides, caressing your skin, memorising every inch of you. Your heart raced, every nerve ending alive with need.

It was an odd sensation, the way Ingrid's tongue moved against you was electric. The warmth of her mouth was more intense than you had anticipated, the way her fingers gripped at your hips added something you never knew was missing.

Your breath hitched a little as she circled your clit, her movements both teasing and deliberate, as if she were savouring every moment. “Down,” you gasped, your hands twisting in the sheets beneath you, gripping them tightly as a wave of pleasure coursed through you.

Ingrid listened intently, her tongue inching down just a fraction, perfectly attuned to your body and your needs. “To the left – there,” you directed, your voice breathless and trembling with anticipation. And then, as her tongue finally ran over your clit, a gasp escaped your lips, the sensation sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through you. It was as if she had found the key to a door you never knew existed, unlocking a flood of sensations that had your body arching toward her, craving more. The way her tongue moved, skilled and confident, sent you spiralling closer to the stars.

Ingrid’s mouth was warm and inviting, her rhythm steady as she explored, each flick of her tongue sending you higher and higher. You could feel the tension building within you, coiling tighter, threatening to break free with each tantalising stroke. The world outside faded away, leaving only the delicious heat between your legs and the sweet sound of your breaths mingling with the soft, wet sounds of her pleasure.

“Just like that,” you managed to whisper, your voice a mere tremor as your body responded instinctively to her touch. The way she focused on you, her eyes flickering up to meet yours, filled you with an overwhelming sense of intimacy. It felt surreal – raw, tender, and utterly consuming.

Your body was alive, electric with need, and you could feel the tight coil of pleasure winding tighter, ready to snap. With each flick and stroke, she guided you closer to that edge, and you knew you were teetering, ready to fall into bliss.

“Please,” you whined out, the word slipping from your lips in a breathless plea, desperate for release. Ingrid showed no sign of stopping; instead, she responded with a low, approving hum that sent shivers down your spine. Each stroke of her tongue had you creeping closer and closer to that sweet, euphoric edge.

“Oh, my god, Ingrid,” you gasped, your hips grinding wildly against her mouth, seeking more friction, more sensation. You could hardly contain the wave of pleasure building within you. Instinctively, your hand flew to her hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands.

“Don’t, don’t stop. Holy shit,” you groaned, your voice thick “Just like that,” you moaned again, feeling your back arch as each flick of her tongue sent electric pulses radiating through your core.

Ingrid’s movements were relentless, her focus unwavering as she worked to bring you closer to that blissful release.

“Fuck, shit. Fuck, I’m cumming,” you announced, the words spilling out before you could even process them. The bubble inside you burst, a wave of pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave, enveloping you completely. “Ingrid,” you shouted.

You felt your body tremble as the intensity washed over you, your back arching higher as you surrendered to the bliss. The room around you blurred, and all that existed was the exquisite sensation of Ingrid’s mouth and the intoxicating connection that enveloped you both. You had had orgasms before, but never one like that. Never ones that had you shaking, your thighs quivering around Ingrid’s head.

“Holy – ” you gasped, as the waves finally began to recede, you collapsed back onto the bed, panting for breath, a soft smile playing on your lips as you basked in the afterglow.

“That… was fucking hot,” Ingrid announced as she moved back up your body, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “You were so loud, holy shit. I didn’t think you had it in you.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief and delight as she smoothed your sweaty hair back off your forehead, a tender gesture that sent a rush of warmth through you. “S-sorry,” you stammered, mortified at the noise you’d made.

“Kjære,” she paused, her tone shifting to something softer, more serious as she waited for you to meet her gaze. The warmth in her eyes was undeniable, and you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest. “Don’t ever apologise. That was so unbelievably sexy.” Her words wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, and you felt the tension ease from your body. “Herregud, I thought I was going to cum from the noises you were making.”

Ingrid leaned closer, her lips brushing against yours in a gentle, lingering kiss, tasting yourself on her lips. “You don’t know how hot you looked, completely lost in pleasure,” she continued, her voice low and sultry. “It’s one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.” You couldn’t help but smile at her words, a wave of warmth flooding through you. “I… I didn’t mean to be so loud,” you admitted, though the embarrassment was quickly fading.

“Good,” she replied, a playful grin spreading across her face. “I want you to be loud. I want to hear you. I want to know just how good it feels.” Her fingers traced delicate patterns along your arm, sending little shivers of excitement through you.

Ingrid settled down next to you, her hands smoothing soft patterns along your stomach.

“So …” You smirked. “All of that and I wasn’t even wined and dined.” You teased, your laughter mixing with hers.

“Just you wait, Kjære. I’ll wine and dine you for the rest of our lives, don’t you worry.”

“Rest of our lives, hey?”

“If you want,” She shrugged non-committally, but you could see the nerves in her eyes.

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girlfromflor · 2 days ago

Text

i like to think kyle has a mean nature to him.

he's both a player and a womanizer, way too gentle with his words and too much charisma. he doesn't even realize that he is, in fact, a bit toxic – it's just his ways, y'know?

he's used to telling little, white lies. he's used to avoiding vulnerability. he's used to putting up with people's assumptions about who he is as a person. they see his beautiful face and think he's all about the sex and nothing more, then so be it.

but then he falls in love and oh god, he is down bad. he doesn't care about nothing besides his darling's well being, even though he's still bit toxic about. it's just tender nurturing, what do you mean he's overwhelming?

he'll tell you "i might not be good, but i'm the best for you" and "i'm just looking out for you, baby. i know what dangers are out there in the world." like he himself isn't slightly manipulating you to rely on him more and more.

he just loves you so much, he can't bear the thought of you being with someone else. and maybe he'll put a baby in you, watch you get pretty and swollen with his child so that you'll always have something to remember him by if you ever manage to leave – you don't want to, and you don't think you'd ever leave a man so lovingly obsessed with you.

#i need more meanie!kyle #he listens to brent faiyaz idc #cod x reader #kyle gaz garrick #call of duty #kyle gaz garrick x reader #cod #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick #gaz cod #gaz call of duty

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xjulixred45x · 3 days ago

Note

OMG!!! THAT WAS SO GOOD!

It was so fun to read and it give me so many ideas that i would like to share if you don't mind.

Kid! Yuu insists in carrying Grimm around. Imagine being an NRC student and you see this kid with their 1.19/1.30 carrying this 90cm cat,is just comic.Grimm is not complaining.

Kid! Yuu randomly drops a lore info; they are with the boys, and out of nowhere they go, "One time I didn't see my mom and dad for 2 days." "Mama was acting funny a couple days before I appeared here. She looked at me oce and said that I was a burden. I don't know what it means, but it doesn't sound good." And the boys are just (⊙_⊙)? You can go nuts with this one.

I think that Jack would be one of the most careful with Kid! Yuu, they reminded him of his siblings. So if you go to Savanaclaw, you're going to see this big as hell wolfman, and his little ray of sunshine, full of trauma, but a ray of sunshine.

The staff is pressuring Crowley to find a way back, but not for Kid! Yuu go back to that empty house with no love, caring, or joy. Actually, they justwant to beat this kid's parents so much that they not gonna remember they on names.

Kid! Yuu still go to class, but the teachers give them activities that kids of their age would learn. Vargas basically plays with them while the boys are dying doing the real P.E. class.

I can see Trein being one of the most worried with Kid! Yuu situation, a little more if kid! Yuu is a girl,reminds him of his own daughters.

The boys and staff need to teach them some things for this kid's sake, like, "If you have a problem, you can and should talk with a grown-up." "If you want something, you can ask us."Stuff of the type.

I would really like to hear your thoughts about those too. Remember to eat and keep hydrated. Bye~

-🐦‍⬛✨

This is so good! Lmao

Grim lets his little henchman carry him around for NRC (he won't admit it, but he likes that Yuu helps him feel important and grown-up), even if it makes things a little difficult. Besides, if anyone tries to mess with them, Grim can easily breathe fire back at them—it's a win-win.

The first-years, being the ones who interact with Yuu the most, are definitely the first to realize something's wrong with this kid. It's not something direct at first, but rather certain habits Yuu has that reveal him as someone who grew up too fast (being too independent or mature for their age, knowing how to cook, clean, and so on on their own, not trusting adults, etc.).

Ace probably once caught Yuu stockpiling food at Ramshackle. The reason? "In case I get grounded without food," it takes Ace a full minute to process what this kid just said. And thenautomatically drags them off to have tea and eat some of Trey's candy at Heartslabyul . Ace isn't very good at this kind of thing, but he DEFINITELY knows it's not normal for a little kid to do that, and he needs someone RIGHT to point that out to them.

Deuce also notices some of Yuu's unusual habits, but especially when he talks about their home. When Deuce told them about his mother and how he wanted to make her proud, Yuu looked at him in a way they never had before. they said his mother wasn't happy with them either, that sometimes they wouldn't see her or thier father for days, but that was okay because then they wouldn't be a burden to them (Deuce proceeded to hug Yuu for three hours straight).

Jack is the one who affirms, the one who assures Yuu that they're not a bad kid, that their parents weren't good people, and most of all, that they deserves to be loved. He's especially gentle with them; they remind him of his little sibilings, so it pains him greatly to see how little affection they received in their life, and he's willing to change it. I can see Jack easily giving in to Yuu's whims, such as transforming into a wolf so Yuu can ride or sleep on him, hanging on his shoulders because he's tall, etc.

Epel definitely tells Yuu straight up that if he runs into their parents, he'll beat them up in seven different ways. Aside from that, he's great at making the kid laugh, whether it's with words from his original dialect/accent, exaggerated Vil imitations, or going on little escapades to get some candy/junk food for themselves. He's also taught Yuu a few tricks on how to use their "cute" appearance to their advantage to escape trouble.

Sebek makes a huge effort to not be so loud around Yuu, realizing that it brings back very bad memories for them, or at least encourages them to be louder and more vocal about what they want. He's the most offended and genuinely angry at the kind of treatment Yuu's parents gave the kid, and assures them that while they're in Twisted Wonderland, they won't have to fear being hurt, that they'll protect them. He's quite affirming without knowing it.

Ortho and Yuu are basically best friends; they're both in a new world and deeply curious about everything around them. Although, of course, Ortho tries to take more care of his more fragile, flesh-and-blood friend. Ortho ends up being the one who teaches Yuu various social skills like "stranger danger" and "trusted adult," and, above all, that if they feels ill or something bad happens to them, they can count on their friends to help them!

The teachers are so partial to Yuu, that while the others are practically fighting for survival in the hellish Vargas camps in the middle of nowhere, Yuu is playing jump rope with Ortho and Grim. While everyone else is dozing off listening to Trein's lectures, Yuu is completing a short basic quiz for the day, with Lucius on their lap. While the others are making potentially explosive potions, Crewel is teaching Yuu basic chemistry.

Sam has definitely given Yuu a couple of gifts to cheer him up when they feeling particularly down, whether it's their favorite food, an item they's been eyeing up, or something unexpected. You never know with Sam. Crowley is happy that he doesn't have to pretend he was looking find a way to get Yuu back home now that everyone's warmed up to them, or well, now they're demanding that he do it, but to... beat up their parents? Well, he might consider it.

After all, Yuu has united the school in a unique way, it's the least they could do, right?

_________

(ESPAÑOL)

Esto es muy bueno! Lmao

Grim deja que su pequeño secuaz lo cargue por NRC (no lo admitirá, pero le gusta que Yuu lo ayude a sentirse importante y grande), incluso si le dificulta un poco. Aparte, si alguien trata de meterse con ellos, Grim puede fácilmente escupirles fuego, es un ganar-ganar.

Definitivamente los de primer año, al ser los que más interactúan con Yuu, son los primeros en darse cuenta que algo malo paso con este niño. No son cosas directas en un inicio, sino mas bien ciertos hábitos que tiene Yuu que lo delatan como alguien que creció muy rápido (ser demasiado independiente o maduro para su edad, saber cocinar, limpiar y demás por su cuenta, no confiar en adultos, etc).

Ace probablemente una vez sorprendió a Yuu haciendo una reserva de comida en ramshackle ¿la razón? “en caso de que me castiguen sin comer”, a Ace le toma un minuto entero procesar lo que este niño acaba de decir. Y automáticamente después lo arrastra Heartslabyul para tomar el té y que coma algunos dulces de Trey. Ace no es muy bueno en este tipo de cosas, pero DEFINITIVAMENTE sabe que no es normal que un niño pequeño haga eso, y necesita que alguien ADECUADO le diga eso.

Deuce también nota algunos de los hábitos inusuales de Yuu, pero más que nada cuando habla de su hogar. Cuando Deuce le hablo de su madre y como quería hacerla sentir orgullosa, Yuu lo miro de una forma que nunca lo había hecho, dijo que su madre tampoco estaba feliz con ellos, que a veces no la veía ni a ella ni su padre por días, pero estaba bien, porque así no sería una carga para ellos (Deuce procedió a abrazar a Yuu por tres horas seguidas).

Jack es el de la afirmación, el que le asegura a Yuu que no es un niño malo, que sus padres no eran buenas personas, y sobretodo, que merece que lo quieran. Es especialmente gentil con ellos, le recuerdan a sus hermanos pequeños, por lo que le duele mucho ver el poco afecto que ha recibido en su vida, y está dispuesto a cambiarlo. Puedo ver a Jack cediendo fácilmente a los caprichos de Yuu, como transformarse en lobo para que Yuu lo monte o duerma sobre él, estar sobre sus hombros porque es alto, etc.

Epel definitivamente le dice directamente a Yuu que si se topa con sus padres les va a partir la cara de 7 formas diferentes. Aparte de eso, es un grande en hacer reír al niño, ya sea con palaras de su dialecto original/acento, imitando a Vil de forma exagerada o yendo en pequeñas escapadas para conseguir algunos dulces/comida chatarra para ellos solos. Tambien le ha enseñado un par de trucos a Yuu sobre cómo usar el aspecto “adorable” a su favor para escapar de los problemas.

Sebek hace un esfuerzo enorme de no ser tan ruidoso cerca de Yuu al darse cuenta de que eso trae muy malas memorias para ellos, o al menos, los incita a ellos a ser más ruidosos y claros con lo que quieren. Es el más ofendido y sinceramente enojado ante el tipo de trato que le dieron los padres de Yuu al niño, y le asegura que mientras este en twisted wonderland, no tendrá que temer que lo lastimen, que lo van a proteger. Es bastante afirmativo sin saberlo.

Ortho y Yuu son básicamente mejores amigos, ambos están en un mundo nuevo y tienen una gran curiosidad por todo lo que los rodea. Aunque claro, Ortho trata de cuidar más de su más frágil amigo de carne y hueso. Ortho termina siendo quien le enseña a Yuu varias cosas sociales como “peligro extraño” o “adulto de confianza” y sobretodo, que, si se siente mal o algo malo le pasa, puede contar con sus amigos para ayudarle!

Los profesores son tan favoritistas hacia Yuu en este caso, mientras que los demás están prácticamente luchando por sobrevivir en los campamentos infernales de Vargas en medio de la nada, Yuu esta jugando saltar la cuerda con Ortho y Grim. Mientras que todos se están durmiendo escuchando las lecturas de Trein, Yuu esta completando un pequeño cuestionario básico por el dia, con Lucius en su regazo. Mientras los demás están haciendo pociones potencialmente explosivas, Crewel le enseña a Yuu química básica.

Sam definitivamente le ha dado un par de regalos a Yuu para animarle cuando le ve especialmente decaído, ya sea su comida favorita, algún artículo que haya ojeado o algo sorpresa. Nunca se sabe con Sam. Crowley esta feliz de que no tiene que (fingir que estaba buscando) buscar una forma de que Yuu vuelva a casa ahora que todos se encariñaron con ellos, o bueno, ahora le exigen que lo haga, pero para…¿darle una paliza a sus padres? Bueno, puede que lo considere.

Después de todo, Yuu ha unido la escuela de una forma única, es lo menos que podrían hacer ¿no?

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

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secretaccountlol · 3 days ago

Text

Tell me i’m good while im weak.

GENDER-NETURAL READER X MARK GRAYSON.

This is a smuttyyy Drabble 18+ no minor plz!

Warnings? : Dom!Reader x Sub! Mark. Reader does call mark some names and teases him a lot. Mark is..a pervert in this lol and soooo pathetic. Also degradation and praise galore. He also like.. lies bout bein sick lol.

Synopsis: Mark has a kink. Praise and degradation, and once you find out you're happy to help him out with it.

I got a beta reader in this hoe! Shout out to lovely, wonderful, stunning @sobbingscripter

Thank her ! Now you won't be subjected to my horrible dyslexia lmao

—-

Author note; Now,, all I kinda went lil crazy with the dialogue, it's like filthy?? Srry if he's a lil OOC, I just wanted to write a down right pitiful mark.. and I think I succeeded!

This is my first ever invincible Drabble! I don't tend to do them very often, so enjoy. Hey btw .: I like comments and reblogs tell me what you think okay?

Mark has a praise kink. You didn’t realize it at first,of course.

Who just randomly daydreams about their good friend’s kinks, not you, at least not intentionally.

It started simple, you had tutored Mark. With all the new hero shit he’s been thrown through, getting his grades up in college was the most difficult thing for him.

That’s when you graciously helped; late night study sessions with him after missions, early morning calls to go over answers before exams.

An unexpected call at 8:30 am in the morning wakes you, and it's Mark screaming about the 80 he just got on the test, worth 60% of his grade.

Your sleepy grin is all you remember as you promise to bring celebratory drinks later, “Good job, Mark! I knew you could do it!”

He pauses before you yawn, letting him know you’re going back to sleep now.

You don’t notice the breathy, stuttered goodbye he says as the phone clicks off.

Next time you're at Comic Con; he’s dressed as Séance Dog, you didn’t tell Mark what you were gonna be dressed as, with you adamant of it being a surprise for him.

His breath falters when he sees you, your legs out and oiled in a “sexy” invincible leotard.

“Surprise~”

Thank god, he was sitting and he had a cape because the boner he popped was massive.

“You look great!”

Your giggle pinpoints his cock, “You look even better, what a good boy you are!” You ruffle his hair, his eyes widen.

“Wha— good boy?”

“Oh, pfft sorry—, cus you're Seance Dog! He’s a dog, dogs are always good boys!”

“Right right right,” Mark’s ears burned, think cold thoughts, think cold thoughts.

“Speakin’ of, the panel of authors and animators is about to start. We need to get there like now, cus I already know people are fightin’ over seats.”

You skip off, not bothering to look behind you, and thank god because if you did, your eyes would be glued to the fucking snake in his pants.

‘ they said I'm a good boy, i'm a good boy, ’ kept chanting in his mind.

His cock did not know a moment of peace that night, with your words echoing through his mind.

His bedsheets dripped with sweat and cum as his cock softened for the 12th time.

Used tissues littered his room as he milked the last bit of cum.

Your phone call shakes him out of his sex haze, it’s a daily ritual of y’alls. You talk about your day and he does the same, trying to keep a sense of normalcy, with him being a hero, it’s hard to see each other every time.

You again, don’t notice his wavering voice as his hands pick up the pace again. His poor cock is beaten to hell, as the sloppy noises fill his room, his mouth press in a thin line.

“Mark, you okay?”

“Yea— yesyesyes, I’m okay…”

Your brow furrows, “Okay, we don’t have to keep talkin’ y’know? I can hang up if your bus—“

“Nonononono, please don’t hang up!” His words rush out in a whimper before he can stop himself.

“Okay! Jesus! ‘M sorry I won’t hang up. You're a needy lil thing today, aren’t ya?”

Mark whines, an honest to god whine. Silence insues, he fucked up.

“Mark, are you sick or somethin’?”

“I— I.. yes!” Mark does a terrible fake cough, “Mmhn, ‘m catchin’ a cold”

“Aww poor baby..”

A whimper slips through his lips, “yes, yeah yeah… mhn… poor me.”

“Wan’ me come over and take care of you, ya big baby?”

“Yesyesyes please,” another muffled plea from Mark as his fingers brush the tip of his head..

“Okay, I’m on my way with chicken soup!”

*Click*

Mark blinks, a dopey smile plays on his lips.

Oh shit.

Oh god, he wasn’t thinking straight, he’s not even sick! His bed creaks from the sudden upright movement.

His eyes darted around his room, oh shitshitshit.

His body zips around his room as he picks up his tissues and throws his soiled sheets in the washer, putting fresh linens on in the span of a second.

The next second, you were already knocking at the door.

“Maaarkkk, you in there buddy?”

His hands move in frenzy, rubbing his nose as hard as he can to make it a rosy red, jogging side to side to give himself a sweaty appearance, and finally a wet, cold folded cloth placed over his forehead before unlocking the door and hastily making his way back to his bed.

Clearing his throat before he speaks, mustering up his best “sick” voice, “Doooorss opppewwennn!!”

The door whines as you enter, Mark’s ears twitch as he hears you set down the homemade soup.

Clashing dishes in the kitchen before your feet shuffle into his room.

Your eyes ooze sympathy when you see his face.

“Awe, my poor baby.”

Mark throws out a helpless whine as he motions grabby hands for you to come to him.

“‘M sooo siick.., think I got somethin’ from space travelin’ too much.”

You back up slightly, “you’re not— like contagious are you?”

Mark shakes his head rapidly, shit. ‘Think, think, make up a lie, make up a lie.’

“Noooo, uh—“ he coughs, “Robot says it isn’t..annd who am I to argue with a super genius!” He coughs another time, for good measure.

“Uh okay!” You slink back over to him, flopping down next to him. “Here, big baby open your mouth up for soup.”

Mark’s mouth opens with a pop, light pink adores his cheek, god he’s pathetic.

“God, you’re shameless, aren’t ya?”

“Immm sickkk—!” He’s definitely milking it, but can you blame him, hearing you pity him like this, it gets him going.

”It’s kinda cute,” you spoon more liquid into his mouth. “I like takin’ care of your needy ass.”

“You do?” His eyes flutter, if he wasn’t ‘sick’, you’d mistake his tinted cheeks as a blush.

“Mm, yeah I like taking care of my friends and family. Plus, you take care of the whole galaxy, Mark. The least I can do is look after you when you need it.”

Mark blinks, then blinks again.

“Sorry layin’ it on too thick? My bad.” You pull back the spoon trembling slightly, the soup swishing around.

His hand hastily grabbed your wrist, “No no not at all, please praise me more.”

“What?”

“Praise me ..more, please”

Your heart burns, bubbling with desire. Shit, should you feel this way about your best friend especially when he’s sick? Is he even in the right headspace?

“You’re.. such a good hero, Mark. I feel so safe when you're around.”

Mark’s breath caught, “‘more?” His fingers squeeze your wrist softly, then release.

“Mark, you’re not — you’re not in the right headspace you aren’t.. you don’t know what you’re sayin’...” your hand caresses over his as you lick your lips.

“If— if I was in the right headspace, would you?”

You bite your lip, sighing “ Yes.. yes—“

“I’m not sick.”

“What?”

“I’m not sick, I lied. Please praise me now.”

Your arms snatch away from him, “You little liar!”

He pouts, sitting up, removing the cold towel. “I wanted you to take care offf meeee!”

“You could’ve just asked, I’d come over regardless!”

Your arms cross against your chest, “you don’t even deserve my homemade soup!”

Mark whines again, “nooo I like your souuup!”

“Why’d you lie! If you like my soup you, again. Could’ve just asked!“

“I—..it’s cus I don’t know! I just thought.. I just couldn’t think of anything else..to get you here.”

“Mark..” your eyes rake over his face. A cute pout plays on his lips and his brows furrowed like a puppy being scolded.

“I just .. mm, thought if I played sick you’d praise me more..”

“Oh..? Oh!” You kiss your teeth, as you stare at your best friend.

“Mark, lift your bed covers for me real quick.”

“Why..” his eyes narrow.

“I think you know why—“

“Noooope.”

“Dude, you totally have a boner right, don’t you?”

“No— I- don’t know what you’re talkin’ about!”

You shift your eyes to the rising spot in the covers, point a finger, “Right.. uh-huh..” your face deadpans.

His legs shoot to his chest nearly knocking the wind outta of him.

“Shit.”

“You’re a fuckin’ pervert dude! Wait wait! Is that why you sounded like that over the phone? Oh my god were you—?”

Mark's eyes dart away from yours, bury his face in his hands after.

“Oh my god, you were! You were jerkin’ off to my voice!” The shrill of your voice carried through his apartment.

“I— SHHH! Keep your voice down!” Mark grabs your collar, the jerky movement causes you to bend over him awkwardly, your chest over his lap.

“Augh- sorry! Shit sorry. I — just— “

Your hand brushes against his cock as you sit up, a strangled groan graces your ears as he grabs your hand again.

“Sorry again— uh don’t touch ther—uh!”

Your other hand grips his covered cock running your fingers over it.

“Tsk no, Mark, isn’t this what you wanted?”

“I— “

Devious grin splits your face as you rip the covers off him, a rush of cold air cools his body, your eyes stare at this boner.

“Ha, got a third leg here, huh?”

“Dude— this is so embarrassing, please don’t tease me..” his hands tug across his face as he speaks.

“Nahh, you said you wanted to be praised, right?”

Another whimper slips past his lip.

“Mark, be a good boy for me, use your words.” God, you were having too much fun mocking him.

“Fuckkk! Don—don’t talk like that!”

Your hand inches into his thin boxer, a hiccup in his breath as you cup his cock.

“You sound so pretty right, you know that?”

“Mmhn no— I “

“No, you’re right, you sound so deliciously pathetic right, I never thought I’d hear you this way.” Your lips ghost the side of his face as you start to pump, a soft sob bubbles from him.

“Imagine everyone knowing the mighty Invincible is such a whiny bitch in bed, hm?”

“Stooopp being meaaan!” Mark’s pitiful wails heighten as his cock twitches in your hands.

“Oh, so you like bein’ degraded and praise? Tsk, what a combooo..!”

“I don’t—! I- just your voice and I’m- I’m over—whelmed! Right now, okay!”

“I’ve barely touched you and you’re throbbing like you’re about to blow, are you? Hm?” Your tongue drags against his ear as your lazy tugs cloud his mind.

“ ‘m nooot! “

“Okay, can you be a good puppy for me and only cum when I tell you to?”

“Uh-huh, yesyes,” his throat bobs, “I can— I can be a good boy, please.”

“Aw okay, I believe you,” your lips slip down his neck, earning another groan, your teeth nip is skin.

“Let’s see how long you can hang on.”

oh, he was fucked.

You realize, he doesn’t just have a praise kink, he has a degradation kink too.

—

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